


Abrenuntio

by Neonbat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Apocalypse world, Bittersweet Ending, Bleak world, Blowjobs, Demon Blood Addict Sam Winchester, Frotting, Graphic Torture, Graphic descriptions, Homophobic John, Hopeful Ending, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Control, Minor Character Death, Sick Sam, Soldier Castiel, Struggling Bi Dean, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, brief Denny, slight erotic asphyxiation, tags will change because i'm sure i've forgotten something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-23 22:05:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 51,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16627268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neonbat/pseuds/Neonbat
Summary: The earth has been consumed by the battle between heaven and hell. After a decade of fighting, the lands are in ruins, and everyone in between is trying to survive.John Winchester commands a scraggly group of survivors out of an abandoned water Plant, but their group has been plagued by a lone angel that seems determined to eradicate them. Dubbed ‘Blue’, the angel of death is wiping them out, one by one.Dean is tasked with bringing Blue down and capturing the angel for interrogation, a herculean assignment. No one ever expects that this undertaking will lead to everything they know about life and their future to unravel in their hands.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh I can't believe it's finally time to post this! I am very excited to share this. I know it's different from what I usually write, but I hope you all like reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Also, isn't Armellin amazing? Her art blows me away, it feels surreal to have it in my story! IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL.
> 
> And a special shoutout to MalMuses as my beta! <3

Matthew 24:7

"For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom, and in various places, there will be famines and earthquakes.

 

 

* * *

   


“Goddammit.” John was in a mood. Well, he was in a mood fouler than usual, which was saying something. Dean couldn’t remember when the last time his father had said something that wasn’t immediately following or started with a cuss.

 

Not that he was much better.

 

“Damage?” Dean inquired flatly, poking the corner of his mouth with his tongue. The tang of blood from his split lip was secondary to the foul taste of the water from his canteen. It had been boiled but there wasn’t much help for water these days. Everything tasted like death and ash.

 

“’Nother one down. Santos.” John hissed, throwing down his duffel on a weathered metal table in the corner of the musty, damp room.

 

The ancient water processing plant made for a good base, but it had its drawbacks. The constant moisture left a pervasive ache in your bones, mold itching your lungs. But it was as close to home as it got these days.

 

“Fuck.” Dean sighed, scrubbing a hand through his scruffy brown hair which was littered with flecks of dark oil. “That winged cock sucker-”

 

“Dean.” John glared steadily over his shoulder, warning in his voice. As if he didn’t say the same things over breakfast.

 

Dean offered a small grunt of acknowledgment and sat down to start stripping his gun for cleaning. Going through his kit calmed him, a meditative ease to doing a repetition he’d done hundreds, if not thousands, of times before.

 

“We have to take it down.”

 

Dean glanced up, watching his father prowl around the room. “Blue?”

 

John scoffed at the nickname, “Makes it sound like a goddamn bird. Yeah, Blue.” He spat on the dirty cement, “We need something to cripple him. Those wings. Anything.”

 

Dean’s hands stilled, “We have the holy oil.” He brought it up monthly, but the supply was finite. They’d lucked out with this supply when a transient witch stumbled on their base, starving and alone. She’d been desperate for sanctuary, and they were in no position to be picky. As much as John loathed it, they needed Supes. Witches weren’t the worst thing they had prowling the halls of this shithole, but they were arguably the most helpful.

 

The pacing resumed, the rhythmic thunk of John’s heavy, battered army boots booming in the bare-bones cement room. “We still got those tanks?”

 

Dean could see the cogs in the old man’s head working, salt and pepper jaw set at a hard line.

 

“Far as I know – Yes sir, we do.” Dean blanched as he corrected himself under another hard stare, a tendril of old fear sitting him up straighter in his chair. John Winchester wasn’t a man you wanted in your crosshairs when he was angry.

 

“Good…good. I want you to do something with them. You’ve always fiddlin’ with traps, do something useful and make something to ground the Angel.” John said it like it was so easy. As if Dean hadn’t been racking his brain for months on how to do just that.

 

“I—“ But John was looking at him expectantly. That look meant Dean had no hope to refuse. He couldn’t say he didn’t know how, or that he had no ideas, not if he wanted to keep his place by John’s side. And not if he didn’t want John to pull Sammy into this gravity as well.

 

“Yes, sir.” Dean intoned, acid churning in his gut. Not even the usually satisfying slide of slipping his clip back into place quelled the burn.

 

John shouldered his duffel, thumbing a line of blood from his cheek. “It took Santos, there’s nobody to burry. Start fifth watch and get your brother ready for sixth.”

 

The acid turned to outrage, “Sam can’t—”

 

“Get. Him. Ready.” John hissed, pausing at the door just long enough for Dean to feel the full weight of his presence. Satisfied he’d quelled his eldest into submission, John strode off down the narrow hallway to the upper levels to retire for the night.

 

Sighing into the lantern-light, Dean finished cleaning his favored hand pistol, absently noting he needed to smith some more bullets when he could spare the time. Time was always a luxury these days.

 

Sometimes, sitting alone like this, he’d dare to remember the _before_. The days when the worst of his worries were getting grass stains out of his church whites and fussing over if Jennifer had a date for Friday night. Before things went to Hell...

 

And to Heaven.

 

That day was like any other. Sam had been whining about Dean not giving him a ride up to the mall when Dean had earmarked his Friday night to go cruising instead. Mom was making enchilada casserole, and John was in a rare good mood, enough to hand him an extra ten for gas and a good time.

 

The summer sky had been beautiful then, a warm orange that blended into the encroaching night’s purple. The first few twinkles of fireflies glimmered in the yard as Dean crossed the driveway towards his car, freshly waxed and the envy of every other teenager in town. The Impala had been the one project he’d bonded with his Dad over for years as they restored her. Taken from a junkyard when he was eleven, they’d worked on that car right up until his sixteenth birthday when John had dropped the keys into his hand and told him it was the only car Dean was getting from him, so he’d better take care of her.

 

A light had streaked through the sky, burning a blinding white until it careened into the side of his car, denting it into oblivion. Across the field, shrill, dual-toned laughter erupted over the grass that he would remember till the day he died. The demon had been small, inhabiting a teenage girl, but there had been blood everywhere on her. A nightmare come to life.

 

The angel pulled himself from the ruins of the Impala as Dean stumbled back towards the house, and his family rushed from within to see what the loud boom was.

 

They’d barely made it down the block before the angel and demon destroyed the house in their skirmish. It was an hour later in a neighbor’s house that the news even clued into what was

going on.

 

At first it was disbelief. Hysteria. Terror. No one could believe Heaven and Hell _really_ existed instead of being a nebulous abstract. That angels were as terrible and merciless as the demons. But day by day, hour by hour, year by year, cities burned. It didn’t matter what got in their way, the inhumane horrors decimated all.

 

The nightmare never stopped. Creatures crawling out of the woodwork, at first capitalizing on the mayhem to murder to their black heart’s desire. Dean’s first kill had been a vampire desperate to sink their teeth into Sam’s neck. It didn’t take long for those beasts to realize that this was their demise as well.

 

Cities crumbled. Fields burned. Water darkened with blood and ichor.

 

And then Mom died, and with her, their hope of the world ever recovering.

“Dean?” A thin, tired voice from behind pulled him his ruminating, and Dean sucked in a slow, quiet breath. “What are you still doing down here? Is dad back?”

 

Dean shoved his cleaned gun back into his hip holster and stood casting a quick glance to his brother. “Dad’s back. Santos isn’t. Blue got him.”

 

Sam cussed, leaning heavier against the doorframe. His massive frame was starting to look thin these days, thinner than he had any right to. They weren’t rolling in supplies, but they had enough to keep a little meat on their bones, however, Sam was diminishing week after week. His six-four frame couldn’t afford to give up anything more.

 

“Shit.” Pushing off the frame, Sam started towards him, tossing a few strands of his limp hair from his scruffy face. Dean could still see Sam’s ‘before’ in his mind’s eye, when he’d been a pink-cheeked teen with a fondness for too many books and whiny to boot. Nothing of that kid was left in the haunted-eyed man standing before him now, old before his time. “Where does he want me?”

 

Dean was tempted. So goddamn tempted. He wanted to lie, to say John had given him morning shift. That he wouldn’t have to go up there in the middle of the night, cold and sick. Not that anyone would talk about it. Everyone knew what ailed Sam, and it wasn’t anything they could help.

 

His sickness was the key to their survival.

 

“Sixth. You and Ruby.” Dean signed another piece of his soul away sending his brother back up there with a demon that pumped his Sammy full of her poison. Sam was special. There were some humans that could stomach a demon’s taint for certain periods of time, able to take in their blood and use it for their own gain. Depending on the user’s strength, the human could gain terrible, devastating abilities. Sam was the best there was.

 

But everything had a price, and this one was rotting his baby brother from the inside out.

Sam nodded, jaw set in an expression too reminiscent of their father’s for Dean’s liking.

 

“And?” Sam always knew when there was more Dean wasn’t telling him. They hadn’t survived this long without knowing each other like the back of their hands.

 

“He wants me to build a weapon that can take down Blue as if it’s that fucking easy.” Dean hissed, snatching up his machete and roughly sliding it home on his thigh strap. “What the hell have I been doing for the past two months to him? Sitting with my goddamn thumb up my ass?”

 

Not that any of his efforts ever measured up. They never had since Mom died.

 

Sam’s thin shoulders sagged, the knowing in his open hazel eyes too much for Dean to look into for long. “We can brainstorm when I get off Sixth.” Of course, Sam would offer, as if he didn’t need to pass out as soon as he rotated off. Sam already looked ready to sleep for days if they let him.

 

“Just survive watch and we can talk later. I’m not on rotation til tomorrow night, get some sleep and some food in you and see me when you rotate off.” Dean reached to clap his taller sibling on the arm as he brushed by. He’d sit in the armory until he had an idea, it was his only option. No one failed John Winchester lightly, especially his sons.

 

Sam watched Dean go, shaking his head to clear the momentary vertigo that tilted his world on its axis. “Don’t forget to eat too!” He shouted after, knowing it would fall on deaf ears.

 

-

A week passed and Dean still was at a loss. He knew he needs to make something to cripple the angel’s wings, but the _how_ eluded him.

 

Despite his task, his other duties must be attended to as well, and he gets sent out bright and early. Lucky isn’t exactly the first guy Dean would pick as his back up, but rotations must be observed and he knew to pick his fights better with his father than to fight about who tagged along on a supply run.

 

“We headed up to Janeson?” Lucky inquired low, grimacing as one of his long feet snagged a fallen branch and almost sent him tumbling.

 

“Rockridge.” Dean suppressed a sigh, willing this day to go smoothly, lest he get any more prematurely grey hairs.

 

Thankfully, Lucky decided he didn’t want to risk his bacon enough to keep up his usual chatter. They picked their way through the woodland and towards the ‘grasslands’ that were all but dirt and weeds at this point. Barely anything grew for miles around the remains of cities, sometimes you got an errant patch of green still snuggled away in a low-traffic area town, but the only green was in the wilderness now. Cities, townships, any sort of populated area had been the first to burn under the wrath of Heaven. It didn’t matter what else died with the demons, as long as the angels could claim the victor.

 

Rockridge had been a small town as far as Dean could tell, mom and pop stores littering street corners, and the ruined town hall a squat brick building deposited in the center of the barely-there burg. Most of the buildings were collapsed in on themselves, in rubble, or well on their way, but there were enough places still standing to pick through.

 

They rarely ventured out this far, but scavenging was getting harder and harder these days. They had to start widening the radius, being gone for days on end to get supplies now. They didn’t have the numbers to risk more than weekly excursions, so Dean had to make sure they counted.

 

“Eyes open, gun cocked,” Dean ordered, pressing his back flat against the first building. Each time felt like the first, heart quickening for just a brief second before he demanded more out of his body and forced it slow. Just like John taught him. Four seconds inhale. Seven exhale.

 

The first building gave them nothing but scraps of fabric to clean for bandages and broken chalk. The second proved more lucrative, and they found a small pile of dented cans hidden behind an off-kilter false panel in a closet. The mostly rotted corpse in the decrepit law office must have stashed things away before succumbing to the usual ails of the wastes. Their misfortune, Dean’s gain.

 

“Saw a Vet office mostly upright ‘cross the way.” Lucky mumbled from his guard by the window, eyes trained for any movement in the sky. Angels moved fast, but if they caught sight of them early enough, they could have a good chance of ducking for cover before the foul things could spot them.

 

In days past the creatures could teleport, blinking in front of their prey in less a heartbeat and frying the very soul of a person in seconds flat. But as time went on they grew weaker and more reliant on their wings. Their sharp senses dulled, and the ability to feel out a human’s spirit within miles fell to nothing as well. As far as Dean could tell, they still had the same terrifying strength and healed quickly, but they were diminishing like everyone else.

 

Maybe that’s why they’d started using humans as batteries instead of cannon fodder a few years ago.

 

Dean could still remember his mother’s screams as the angel housed within a centerfold funneled out her soul and gobbled it down like it was fucking cotton candy.

 

“Dean?”

 

He blinked, looking over his shoulder at Lucky’s expectant eyes. “I heard you.” He lied with a grunt, shoving the last of the cans in his rucksack. “Let’s hit it.”

 

The Veterinarian’s office turned up a decent supply of things they could utilize. Dean didn’t know what half the shit the scattered bottles did, but someone at the Plant had to know. He doubted anything was still usable medicine wise, but it was worth a shot. The handful of scalpels were another priceless find, and briefly, he entertained the notion that John might congratulate them on their haul. But that was wishful thinking of the pathetic.

 

Dean leaned out the broken window, squinting towards the sun disappearing over a high hill.  
  
  


“Two hours till sunset, we have to move.” Getting caught outside after dusk was suicide. Weres roamed at night as well as any other fell creature driven to starvation by the angel’s and demon’s wars.

 

They’d focused too much and lost track of time. It had taken three hours to get here, they needed to make up that extra hour, or else. “Now.” He pressed, shrugging his bag onto his shoulder and motioning for Lucky to do the same. “Got your silver?”

 

Lucky flashed a grin and patted the crudely smithed machete at his side, “Ready and waiting, but let’s see if we can avoid getting the old girl out.” He tried to be light and jovial, but the faint tremble at the back of his words betrayed his nerves.

 

If Dean wasn’t used to swallowing down the niggling panic of this hell, he might have joined him.

They moved faster than they should have, but time was a constant weight on their backs. The warmth of the fading sun hung on them, tugging and nipping at their heels in a constant ‘move move move!’. They ate the miles with an urgency born of living too many hardships in the span of nine years.

 

They didn’t hear the rustle of leaves above until it was too late.

 

Dean happened to look up to see if he could squint through the leaves and check the time, the fading late winding through the boughs above to create a dim haze on everything below. One moment there was nothing but leaves, and the next a burst of black feathers and broken tree limbs. He didn’t get the chance to shout at Lucky to scatter, not before a dirty, weathered boot connected with his chest and sent him sprawling with the force of a battering ram.

 

Lucky yelled, the twang of his machete roughly unsheathing from his side lost in the stirring of the angel’s massive wings. Dean gasped on the ground, struggling to right himself in the debris of his torn bag, nearly skewering his hand on a rusted scalpel in the process.

 

Dean had never seen ‘Blue’ up close, only from a distance. He’d been lucky in that aspect. There was only a handful of them who were still alive after seeing Blue close enough to understand why Meg had nicknamed him that in the first place. She’d cackled the name right up until Blue ran her through with his sword and fried the demon right out of her skull.

 

She’d said the angel had the brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen. She’d call him a looker.

 

Dean only saw a monster.

 

Blue was like no angel Dean had ever had the misfortune of seeing up close. His once stark white armor had been dirtied beyond recognition, black with layer upon layer of blood and dirt until barely any of the original splendor remained.

 

Dean had seen angels with white wings, brown, or even pale blue before, but never black. Blue’s were as black as night, frayed at the edges, and missing enough feathers to make them look like a weathered crow’s.

 

Lucky dove to the side, swiping out with his machete in an attempt to dig into Blue’s arm. The angel’s sword flashed out, and in one effortless sweep he sheared Lucky’s arm off at the elbow - fast enough that Lucky barely had time to register the amputation before Blue struck again. Blue reached to seize the man around the throat, and Dean got the first look at the angel’s face as he staggered to his feet.

 

The same blue eyes Meg leered about over breakfast were actually the eyes of the dead. Blue as glacial ice and just as empty. Blood streaked his face and shaved head from the radial spray, but worse than the cherry-fresh coat was the darker, silvery-tinted sludge that trickled lazily down the angel’s ashy face. It bled but from no discernible wounds.

 

“Rejoice. For you are serving the Kingdom of Heaven.” The creature spoke, voice like gravel over metal, grating and just as cold and unpleasant.

 

Dean knew what was next, and he couldn’t stick around for Blue to power up. He turned and ran, fleeing for his life as Lucky’s scream took on a pitch that would haunt the dark corners of Dean’s mind every time he closed his eyes. A flash of white seared through the woodland, a shutter-click of light that cut off the scream into dead silence.

 

Dean ran faster and harder than he ever had. The devil might not be behind him, but something just as bad was. Dean never had much use for his soul this past near-decade, but he refused to die easily just so some feathered asshole could use it as a pick-me-up.

 

He had to be close. They’d walked in the woods for thirty minutes before Blue attacked, and the perimeter had to be nearby. Every moment that crept back Dean knew could be the one that Blue would arrive, bringing terror and death on his wings.

 

Dean knew the moment his foot crossed the rune-marked line of the base’s perimeter. A harsh ‘pop’ against his ears threatened to send him into a tree before he corrected himself, and he staggered to a stop. His lungs burned, a sharp, stabbing pain punching into his side every time he drew breath. The angel’s kick had bruised a rib—

 

The runes lit up, shimmering the dull glow of the domed magic that held the base in its cradle. The wind picked up, parting the trees in a flurry of leaves and sticks as Blue touched down just outside of the rune’s field.

 

“H-hope you choke on Lucky’s soul, you ugly fuck!” Dean snarled, staring after the angel as he took a shaking step back.

 

Blue blinked, hand stretching out to touch the barrier he’d run into umpteen times before. He’d never been able to break through, but Dean wasn’t keen on sticking around to see if today was the day. He took another step back.

 

“Your struggle is futile. Repent and embrace the design of the Lord.”  Blue’s voice sent a chill up Dean’s spine. It was like hearing a computer speak, flat and toneless. “Come to me so that I may use your soul to cleanse the world. Embrace salvation.”

 

Bile churned in Dean’s stomach. “ _Salvation_? You fuckin’ winged-freak! How is eating us sal—”

 

“Dean!” Sam’s voice shouted from closer to base, alert by the alarms within the base signaling an angel had triggered the parameter.

 

Blue’s eyes found their way to Sam as he approached, the other human paling as soon as their eyes met through the shimmering shield.

 

“Is Lucky…?” Sam whispered, eyes staying forward as he reached a hand out to help support Dean as he labored to draw a deep breath.

 

Dean sharply nodded, sparing another glare towards the angel that just stood in front of them, just waiting for them to walk out and serve themselves up on a goddamn blue plate special.

Sam drew him back, pulling him towards Base in slow, measured steps. His body felt frail in Dean’s hold, but Sam never faltered even when he was half dragging his elder brother to the heavy iron door painted with layers of sigils.

 

“Fuck.” Dean breathed, cradling his side as they stumbled into the old plant, and for once, Dean welcomed the pervasive scent of mildew and rust that greeted him.

 

* * *

 

Relief was never long savored here.

 

“You _what_?” John snarled, slamming his hand down against the table. “Dammit, Dean! The group needed those supplies!” No one looked up from their tables, tight-lipped as Sam took to bandaging Dean’s bruised and battered ribcage.

 

“The hell was I supposed to do?” Dean knew better than to snap back but seeing the lack of concern on John’s face stung more than usual. Dean had managed to escape Blue with his life but that meant little to John Winchester.

 

“You should have been looking. Paying attention. What have I told you?” There was no stopping John once he started, and everyone in the small group held their tongue as he raged. Like it or not, John was the only one among them with tactile experience and a life already weathered by military service. He’d gravitated to the position of leader without even a formal vote. It was just the way things were.

 

There was a fire in his chest that had nothing to do with his broken rib. “Sorry, sir.” Dean ground out, just managing to keep his eyes on John’s face right above his eyes. He was too afraid of what he’d find if he looked in John’s eyes right now. Always a coward.

 

“You know Blue, Dad. You know how he moves. There was nothing Dean could do.” Sam spoke up. He was allowed to talk back as long as he ‘pulled his weight’. John never cared if that weight was killing Sam as assuredly as Blue was killing them off. It was a means to an end, and who better to put his ‘trust’ in than his sons?

 

John smirked, “I know I got supplies back the last time we tangled him. That’s what I know.” No one could live up to John’s standard but himself.

 

“Then maybe you should have gone.” The air went deathly still, and Dean knew Sam went too far.

 

John turned to Sam, “Maybe I should have. Least we’d have something to show for it. Now Dean is out of rotation and someone else will have to pick up his slack.” He sighed, jerking his head to the ragtag group of assembled survivors. “Max, you’re on Dean’s rotation until further notice.” There was a small note of acknowledgment from a young man towards the back, a witch that helped reinforce the runes every new moon.

 

“Since you’re benched, that weapon better be finished soon.” John leveled his eyes at Dean once more, “I trained you better than this, boy.” Even at twenty-five, Dean would always be ‘boy’. John only said his name when he was giving him an order or warning him off his smart mouth.

 

“Yes sir,” Dean replied once more, dropping his eyes as Sam finished bandaging him up a flare of pain shooting up his side as Sam roughly tied off the bandages in his frustration.

 

This time Sam at least waited until most everyone had dissipated until he threw in his two cents Dean never asked for. “That’s bullshit. Why do you let him talk to you like that Dean? Without you he’d be shit out of luck.” Which was a bold lie. Dean was a soldier. A grunt. Sam was the one people counted on.

 

“Sam, drop it.” Dean rose, puffing a breath through his nose to stifle the fresh wave of discomfort every time he moved or breathed. He’d broken bones before, this was no different. He could rest when he was dead. “I have to get to work.”

 

“Dean you haven’t eaten since breakfast. Get something in you. Look, I’ll eat with you? Okay?” Sam offered, a small, hopeful smile on his pale face.

 

Normally Dean would refuse. After that failed mission, Dean didn’t feel like he deserved his share. But…Sam looked so damn thin. If Sam was offering to eat with him, then Dean would take any chance he got to put some calories into his giant of a baby brother. “Yeah alright, stop looking at me like that. That puppy look wore off when you were sixteen.” This time he was the liar. Sam’s puppy-eyes got him every time.

 


	2. Chapter 2

James 1:3 

Because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.

 

 

 

* * *

 

A screw pinged against the cold floor, fumbled on tired fingers. “Shit,” Dean growled, shoving the heel of his dirty hand against his right eye in a vain attempt to stave off the impending exhaustion. He was working around the clock to get this damn gun done, and he was running on fumes.

His chest still ached, but that was nothing compared to the _looks_ John was giving him over the past two days. He was expecting progress and Dean needed to give it to him.

It had taken just two solid days of brainstorming to come up with the net gun to start with. Another to gather the parts, and another to convince John to part with one container of holy oil for the project. Two days later with the constant presence of a welding gun, Dean was making slow headway.

If it wasn’t for Sammy’s help, he really would have been screwed.

“So, the meeting.” Sam looked down into the depths of the sludge he was busy mixing up, a towel tied around his mouth and nose to prevent his lungs from getting irritated by the fumes.

Dean glanced up with a sniff to clear dust from his airways, “Makes sense.” They’d established by now Blue was a rogue angel. They usually worked in groups or at least pairs. Whatever made Blue different made him vulnerable, and they had to capitalize on that.

He’d seen first hand what that angel was capable of now, and the faster they grounded him, the better.

“You think it’ll work? The warding?” Sam stood to fetch his cup of water, the wheeze in his lungs growing the longer he helped.

“Witches said it will. Kevin has been working on the translations, gotta assume it will. The last ones worked.” Dean shrugged, beyond worrying about the ‘what ifs’ on a day when he was this tired and sore.

It was decided. Dean would be responsible for taking down the angel with the net gun, and once they were able to wrangle Blue to the ground, they’d hobble him. They needed him alive to get information out of him, but the only way they could think to get the creature to talk was Wing him.

It was thanks to Ruby, the demon, that they even knew to threaten Blue with it. She told them an angel’s worst fear was to be grounded. To have the one thing that tethered them to Heaven ripped away. Without their wings, they would diminish and fade until there was only a mortal left behind. A mortal with secrets to winning this goddamn war.

“I want to be there.” He knew Sam was going to say that as soon as he’d brought it up.

“No.”

“Dean, I have a right to be there just like anyone else. More even.”

Dean set his tools down, glaring over his shoulder. “Oh yeah? How do you figure? Because from what I’m seeing, you’re about to drop Sam. We can’t afford for—” Dean swallowed, refusing to think the unthinkable. “You’re our heavy hitter. Save your juice until we need it.”

The hard clunk of an empty metal cup against the table said there was no hope of this argument ending so easily. “And you don’t think capturing a fucking angel is worthy of a ‘heavy hitter’? Jesus Dean, I don’t even have to get juiced up to help! Unless you think that’s all I’m good for now.”

It wasn’t Sam talking at this point. Dean knew it, but even knowing the demon blood was slowly, but surely frazzling the tethers holding Sam together, the comment still stung. “Sam—”

“No, that’s it isn’t it? Just like dad…, I’m not only good for the group when using, Dean! I was trained as much as you were.” Dean stood as Sam approached him. Not because he was afraid Sam wanted to get physical, but because he knew getting this worked up had a high chance of making Sam worse.

“Sam. Shut up.” Dean snarled, “You know damn well I don’t think that. I don’t want you out there because I’m not about to bury your ass. I know you’re more than the blood Sam, we’d be screwed without that head of yours. You think I’m going to do the numbers? Think again. I’m the brawn, you’re the brain. So, go help Kevin figure out what the fuck we’re doing here.”

Usually, this was where Sam argued that Dean was smarter than he knew. That they were both capable in their own way. But today the demon blood was in the driver’s seat.

 

* * *

 

 

“You can’t treat me like Dad treats you, Dean. I’m not your pawn to move around the goddamn chessboard.” Dean bristled, staring hard, willing Sam not to go there to no avail. “Yeah, I said it. You’ve been down here for a week with a busted rib on what? Three hours of sleep a night? If that? What are you so afraid of Dean? Dad can’t kick you out. Or do you just like being ordered around?”

That was it. Dean dropped the wrench gripped in his hand and crowded into Sam’s space, the kid’s extra inches on him be damned. “I’m not going to wrestle you to the ground like when we were kids and sit on your ass until you calm the fuck down, Because I know it’s the demon blood talking. But this is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re not you when you’re like this. On it, or during withdrawal.”

Sam scoffed, rolling his hazel eyes hard. “Yeah Dean, blame it on the blood. Convenient. Have fun with your gun. I’m sure this will be the time Dad pats you on the head and gets you that damn baseball card.” He smirked, snatching the towel off his face and storming off out of the cold, crowded space that made up Dean’s ‘tinkering’ room.

“Fuck this.” Dean had enough. He was tired of being yelled at. Of being pushed, prodded, and goaded into things. The burning itch that had been steadying growing under his skin for weeks now was coming to a head, and like usual, there were only three ways to solve it. Getting fucked up, fucking something else up, or getting fucked.

They didn’t have the alcohol to spare, his ribs prevent him from going on rotation, so that left only one option, chest pain be damned.

One of these days, Dean will remember to put his shirt under his knees before he did this. Instead, his shirt was hastily cast off and thrown aside, and his knees only had the layer of his jeans between them and the cement.

“In a hurry?” Benny chuckled above him, a slow hiss exhaled behind his pearly white teeth as Dean pressed his face into the growing bulge of his well-worn denims.

“Maybe. So get your dick out.” Dean growled, glaring up at the vampire as he mouthed over him, daring him to refuse.

Benny rolled his eyes lightly but wasn’t going to argue. Dean’s breath shuddered in the quiet of Benny’s room, one of the rare people to get a space to himself considering his species. “Keep talking like that and I’ll think you’re just usin’ me, Cher.” He teased an old joke between them as he unzipped his jeans, baring the outline of his cock behind the covering of grey boxers.

It was an old joke because both knew that’s exactly what Dean was doing. Not to say they weren’t friends, they were, but Dean had been dragging Benny to a secluded corner of the base for years. Ever since they were on rotation together and were left hunkered down in a hollowed-out grain silo for the night, and lead to desperate hand jobs and frenzied tongues.

There were few people Dean truly trusted to have his back, and Benny was one of them. Vampire or not, he was a solid guy, and it didn’t hurt that he could get a little rough when Dean wanted him to.

Like when his hand slid through his hair and gripped tight. Dean moaned quietly into the tug, always keeping his voice low for fear that someone would overhear. No one knew of his sexuality proclivities towards men, and no one ever would. Not Sam. And especially not John.

John would beat him black and blue if he ever found out.

Dean leaned back in, mouthing over the swell once more before reaching up to tug Benny’s waistband down, letting the thick, heavy length bob free. Every time he did this there was a tendril of anxiety threaded into his lust. Benny was a big guy all around. Muscular even without the added vampiric strength, and handsome in a way that would have had everyone drooling in a world long past. Seeing the solid erection right in front of his face was daunting in the best of ways.

“Been lookin’ forward to this?” Benny purred low, using his grip on Dean’s hair to press him closer until Dean’s breath puffed warmth onto his arousal.

Dean smirked softly, pink tongue flashing out to flick against the flushed tip. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Hearing me say how much I’ve wanted your cock?” He chortled. Without preamble, he closed the distance, groaning deep as he widened out his mouth to its limit to accommodate Benny’s girth.

His jaw instantly began to ache, and it was always hard to get a breath, but it was just what he wanted. Dean sank down until he couldn’t take anymore, feeling the heady, pulse-fluttering sensation of his windpipe being cut off by the invasion.

Dean drew up with a gasp, shuddering hard as his chest heaved. He palmed over his crotch, feeling the ache of being trapped in his jeans grow with every passing second.

“You know, you don’t have to wait till the middle of the night to do this. Can come to me anytime.” Benny’s faintly Cajun accent always got thicker when he was fired up, but the heat that usually stirred in Dean was lost by the implications.

Benny knew damn well why he wasn’t going to walk up in the middle of the day and proposition him. John always took day rotations. He’d never been happy about all-nighters, and since John found himself in a place of power in the group, he’d opted to swing between the day shifts only.

The night was the only time Dean was truly free to let his metaphorical hair down without John breathing down his neck.

“Shut up.” Dean snapped, and dove back down, sheathing Benny in his throat fast enough for the vampire to pop his fangs. Satisfied Benny wouldn’t be making any more stupid comments, Dean let himself relax into the stretch once more.

Benny took the hint, thank fuck for small favors. His first tightened in Dean’s hair, and he began to rock his hips back and forth at a slow enough pace to let Dean catch his breath.

At first.

It wasn’t long until Benny was slamming Dean’s head down over his cock quickly enough that Dean started to get light-headed. When static began to fuzz the corners of his vision, Dean broke and scrambled to free himself from the trappings of his jeans. He stroked himself frantically to the rhythm of Benny fucking into his skull until the motion was lost in the dizziness of partial asphyxiation.

Benny plunged deep, straining Dean to capacity, and bent nearly double around Dean’s upper body as he spilled down at the back of Dean’s throat. Dean’s vision went momentarily, and seconds away from needing to tap out he came, coating the floor in his desperate pleasure with groans that sounded more like whimpers to his ears.

“That’s it, Cher. Take it.” Benny crooned, lazily pumping himself against Dean’s wrecked throat to coax the last of himself onto Dean’s tongue.

Finally, Dean was allowed to draw breath, and he sagged against Benny’s waiting hand to shudder and gasp his way into the realm of the living once more.

The first time he’d done this with Benny it scared the piss out of him, but as time went by Dean grew to look forward to these moments where he was suspended between consciousness. It left him feeling weak, dizzy, and satisfied in ways he didn’t want to analyze.

“With me?” Benny asked above him, and Dean gave a small grunt of acknowledgment as he groped for his shirt to wipe the remains of his saliva and Benny from his mouth.

It took another few minutes to get his legs under him and to get halfway presentable, so he could go back to his room, but Benny wasn’t the kind to kick him out. Sometimes he got the feeling the vampire wouldn’t mind if Dean hung around more, but that felt like indulgence.

His ribcage was aching with a renewed vigor once his afterglow faded and the endorphins evened out, but Dean would still count that as a worth it.

“You need to get some shut-eye there. Look like you could use it.” Benny commented as he righted his clothes and walked across the small room to hold a cup of water out to Dean.

Dean chugged it gratefully, grimacing at the faint burn the tepid water left down his throat. “Plan on it.” Shit, he hoped Sam was already asleep or else the worry-wart would ask if he was calming down with a cold with his voice sounding so rough. It would even out by morning, and if it didn’t, all the more excuse to ignore people until his voice came back.

Benny looked at him a beat longer than Dean wanted. He quirked a brow, prompting Benny to be out with it already, but the question never came. “Night, man.”

“Goodnight Dean, Rest up.”

* * *

 

In a rare moment of the universe throwing him a bone, Sam was already tucked away on his cot by the time Dean slipped into their shared room. Dean tiptoed through getting undressed and eased himself down on the squeaky frame of the ancient bed, but Sam never stirred.

The quiet of the room fell over him, only broken by the wheezing breaths of his brother a few feet away. Sam was still probably angry at him, but Dean didn’t care. It was for his own good. The kid was barely twenty-one years old and yet he carried the air of a man twice his age. Sam had given so much, sacrificed his health and bits of his sanity, and Dean wasn’t about to let him do this as well.

He’d tried. He’d tried so goddamn hard.

Dean couldn’t stomach demon blood. Only a handful of humans had the ‘gift’ to, and Sam was unusually receptive. It felt like another one of Dean’s failures not to be able to shoulder this burden for his baby brother, a kid he’d been trying to keep close and safe since he was born. But none of it had mattered.

Day by day Sam was growing sicker, and every time he came down off the blood it would floor him for days. There was no matter of a ‘maybe’ anymore, but a ‘when’. Ruby was killing Sam as sure as any angel would, and there was not a damn thing Dean could do about it.

Without Ruby, they wouldn’t have a big chunk of the intel they accumulated or the muscle she leant to fights. Still, Dean thought about plunging a blessed knife into her heart every day. He fantasized about how to end the plight on Sam’s life over and over again until he ached with it.

That might truly be the thing to get John to snap on him. The one unforgivable sin that he would turn his anger against his eldest in ways Dean couldn’t hazard to guess.

So, he sat here on nights like this, listening to Sam’s breathing and praying his baby brother would live another day so he could hear it again.


	3. Chapter 3

Revelation 20:1-3

Then I saw an angel coming down from heaven,   
holding the key of the abyss and a great chain in his hand.

* * *

 

The closer it came to evening, the more anxious Dean grew. He’d polished, cleaned, and primed the weapon more times than he could count. The heavy net gun was an ugly, but effective piece, one of the largest he’d ever designed. Three barrels fed compressed air behind the weighted ball bearings at the ends of the holy oil and tar drenched net that was nestled secularly in a bigger barrel. It took both of his arms to steady it, straining with muscles with every step, but it would work. He knew it would.

It was a one-hit wonder since loading it took over an hour, but if Dean got the shot, the net would destroy the angel’s wings beyond all hope of immediate recovery. This was their ticket to bagging the bird once and for all.

Getting the gun from the underground to the surface took nearly thirty minutes, but he managed. It was an hour away from the agreed upon time, but it might as well be an eternity for all Dean cared. Anything could happen in an hour.

He pushed the door open, grunting hard as he hefted the gun over his shoulder and made his way outside.

There was already a handful of John’s chosen party out, including Max, who was busy weaving a light bending spell to keep them all shielded until they were ready to move out.

“Like the size of that package,” Max smirked over his shoulder, winking at Dean as he made his way to the center of the group.

John huffed a quiet noise of disgust, “Focus on the spell.” John only tolerated Max’s overt sexuality because of the man’s usefulness, Dean doubted he’d get the same treatment.

“You sure this is how you want to go about it?” Dean took position beside John out of habit, casting a glance at the old man that was aging by years every day.

John’s focus turned from the group, “You got any better ideas? Better say ‘em now.” There was a quiet dare in those words.

“I—” The old lion was staking his claim, looming down over the younger, stronger, but unsure youth that had the means to challenge him. “I just think Blue is smarter than this. How many of us has he killed already? He’s going to know something is up.”

John spat a small piece of splintered wood he’d been using as a toothpick on the ground. “Beasts an animal. Nothing more. He’ll scent us and come.”

It grated Dean how sure John was. Even if his plans proved ill-conceived John projected a cock-sure attitude that made Dean keep his mouth shut. Only Sam had the daring to challenge him, and the youngest Winchester wasn’t physically able to argue for much longer.

Footsteps crunched the brittle grass behind him, “Stop being a pussy, Dean. We can nab the bastard.” Ruby’s grating voice sent a chill up his spine as she reached to drag her fingers across his arm while she sidled by.

“Fuck off Ruby,” Dean took an instinctive step away, turning just enough to see who was a few paces behind her. “No, Fuck no. I _told_ you—”

 

“Dad wanted me here, Dean. You guys might need me.” Sam sighed, flexing a hand at his side before settling it on his knife sheathed at his hip. “You know this is too big. We need every edge we can get.”

Dean stared between his remaining family, taking in John’s disinterest, with Sam’s pleading. They were just willing to continue using these excuses until Sam ran into the literal ground. He didn’t have many more rounds left in him, and none of them knew when the next mouthful could be his last.

“It could be fucking suicide and you know it.” Dean snapped, hand tightening around the gun.

Sam sighed,” Dean, every step outside the Plant is suicide. You know that.”

Beside them, John sniffed and took a step towards the group. “Stow it. We’re moving out. Dean if you want to bitch about your brother being out here, make sure to bag the angel before we have to use your brother. Solutions, not complaints.” With that, he stalked off, leading the handful of survivors out towards the rune markers, and beyond.

Sam at least had the decency to shoot him an apologetic smile as he started towards the group, sparing Dean a clap on his free shoulder as Ruby fell in step, always at Sam’s side. A portable weapon for Sam to unholster whenever the time called for it.

“Shit.” Dean hissed, sparing a moment to inhale the acrid evening air, polluted by the constant war.

The clearing they chose was far too close to where Lucky went down for Dean’s liking, but then again, he supposed that’s why they returned. There was already chum in the waters. Blue knew they used this route, and the likelihood he’d find them quickly rose exponentially.

Max was still weaving his spell, cloaking the majority of them save the agreed upon decoys. John thought angels were weak enough now that they wouldn’t immediately detect such a base spell, but Dean disagreed. He’d heard Blue consume Lucky’s soul, and they all knew the power-boost the bastard got when fueled up on grade-A human soul.  Free-range even.

But like all the others, the suggestion fell on deaf ears and the plan remained unchanged.

John motioned, silently confirming everyone was in their places before indicating for the decoys to begin. Jo and Cole had been making a good show of ignoring all the others from the moment they stepped past the parameters, and they were going about the trail as if they were doing nothing more than a usual sweep.

Cole signaled Jo to stop under the pretense of checking through his bag, and the two of them became the sitting ducks John had wanted them to be.

Jo was too damn young to be out here like this. Like cattle to slaughter. She was barely eighteen, and while she had the fiery spirit her mother had, she was still too raw from Ellen’s death to be risking her ass out here now.

She was just another person Dean would have to dig a grave for in the end. Another soldier lost to the madness.

Time crept by, and Dean feared he’d be proved right. Blue was too smart for this. He had to smell a trap a mile away. Spelled or not, they had to be giving off traces the angel could pick up on. They were going to be sitting out here till dawn with their thumbs up their asses waiting just because—

Cole screamed. A sword bloomed from his chest in a blink, and his eyes bulged in shock as he groped weakly at the point protruding from him in disbelief. The next second Blue turned his wrist, and Cole’s body jerked as the blade twisted into the meat of his chest.

Cole was dead before any of them had the time to process what was happening. Blue was even faster than the last time.

Everything happened at once. Max dropped the illusion and started in on a new chant, eyes flaring a shining purple as his magic sparked to life. John barked orders, and everyone burst from their hiding places, weapons flashing from holsters on all sides.

Not that any of it matters. Blue was just too damn fast.

Another fell, spraying blood from an opened carotid, slicking the glass crimson. Another crumpled to the ground, buffeted by the mass of feathers with such force Dean could hear the crack of the man’s bones shattering.

Blue jerked when Max hit him with a radiant burst of purple flame, and the moment Dean raised his gun to try and line up a shot, Blue dove. Max was only saved from meeting an ugly end by John’s blade flashing out, catching Blue as he darted by and sending a splash of silvery blood into the air. One of Blue’s arm bracers clattered to the ground, and the hotline of bifurcated flesh up his right arm healed with a traveling arch of blue-white light.

Blue pivoted, knocking John back into a tree with another sweep of his wings.

“T-take the goddamn shot!” John shouted, urging Dean to end this, but Blue was always faster. “Goddammit, Sam! End this!”

Ruby backed quickly from the battle and scurried to Sam’s side, eyes burning black and bloodlust splitting a wide smile on her lips. She didn’t even wait to get to Sam’s side before she opened her wrist on her blade, thrusting out the freely bleeding wound with a manic air of delight.

And as usual, Sam drank deep. He pulled Ruby’s wrist to his lips, mouth locking around the gaping wound as he pulled mouthful upon mouthful until his eyes shown a gleaming, hellish red. Then he drank more, gulping down two more mouthfuls than usual and pulling off with a frenzied shout and pushing Ruby aside with a rough hand. Sam’s face was a mess of blood, dripping fat drops on his flannel every time he drew a ragged breath.

 

Blue back glanced and took to wing, but Sam was already thrusting his hand out. Blue’s wings suddenly crumpled against his back, and the angel’s shriek filled the encroaching night. Blue hit the ground hard enough to crater the barren dirt. Sharp sounds of outrage growled past the creature’s lips as he clawed, groped, and pushed against Sam’s hold on him like a rabid animal.

Dean swiveled the gun, slapping the first mechanism to prime the canister once more.

A few steps away, Sam smirked, fist clenching harder as the angel’s movements became more frantic the tighter he squeezed.

Dean’s finger started to hover over the trigger once the last primer was placed, but the shot never came. Thick, dark blood and bile spilled on the ground as Sam abruptly heaved over, breaking his hold on Blue and shattering the calm of concentration that had descended on Dean as he lined the shot up.

“Fuck, Sam!” Dean lowered the gun to reach out as Sam collapsed, blood oozing from his nose, and the remains of Ruby’s blood vomited onto the ground in front of him.

“Dean, take the fucking shot!” John roared, lurching to his feet to dive for Blue’s fallen blade a few feet in front of him, words falling on deaf ears. Growling his outrage, John closed the distance between himself and Blue, intent on striking a crippling blow with the angel’s own blade.

 

Dean had warned John. They all knew there was something different about Blue.  Other angels liked to platform and toy with their prey. Aside from the droning messages of repentance, Blue never stopped long enough to do that.

They all should have expected what happened next, but like so many other times in human existence, the violence took them by surprise.

John got as far as rearing his arm back for the blow before Blue surged up and forward on the braced tips of his wings. His bare arm shot out, and with the ease of ripping through tissue paper, Blue thrust his arm through John’s prone chest until his fingertips protruded out the other side. The stolen angel blade clattered to the ground in time with John’s choked gasp, filling the stunned silence that descended over the clearing.

Dean broke first, “Dad!” He started forward, but Ruby snatched a hand out and held him rooted with a snarled ‘Now’.

When Blue wrenched his hand free of John’s chest cavity, Dean fired. The net left the gun with a burst of pressurized air, spreading the weighted balls wide. The net collided with Blue and sent him to the ground in a heap of limbs and feathers, every movement tangling the angel deeper within the sticky surface. Feathers stuck and bent against the netting, tearing at them until Blue was forced into stilling less he ruin all his feathers in one fell swoop.

Dean screamed, dropping the gun and dashing forward until he could lash out at the bundled mass on the ground lying so close to the bloodied, sightless form of his father’s body. The first crush of his foot connected with Blue’s skull, sending the angel’s head snapping back with an ugly crack. The next crushed a section of wing underfoot, and the creature screeched and thrashed beneath the net. The third never met flesh before Benny reached out to grasp him by the shoulders and roughly haul him back.

“I know brother, but we need him for questioning.” Benny rumbled behind him, holding him effortlessly no matter how hard Dean raged. “Get your head on straight…no time. Yell at the dawn.” The strong arms locked around his chest grounded him moment by moment, but the red never fully cleared from his eyes. Even when the bodies were collected and dragged back to Base with the angel in tow, the fog stayed in place.

Burning. Thirsting. Demanding Dean to act to quell the churning of his insides before he burst apart at the seams.

Only Sam’s shaking hand descending on his shoulder the first step underground snapped him from the haze, swiveling to meet the bloodshot hazel looking at him with an expression too young, too lost, to be his baby brother.

Sam’s hand weakly squeezed, and Dean finally breathed.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Luke 21:36 

 

But stay awake at all times, praying that you may have strength to escape all these things that are going to take place, and to stand before the Son of Man.”

 

* * *

 

There was a sea of tired, desperate eyes turned his way, all bleak, streaked in mud, blood, and tears. The only kid in the compound sniffled in her father’s arms, tugging at his clothing as the four-year-old inspected him for anything more than the purpling bruise over his forehead.

Getting the Angel into the compound, as injured as he was, hadn’t been easy. Blue’s wings were deadly even mangled, breaking a women’s leg and giving the father in the corner the concussion of a lifetime. Blue was stashed in the pits, left in the tarred net at the bottom of the old plant in a cell warded to hell and back. Witch, Demon, and anyone else with sigil knowledge had poured their all into that cell, and so far it was holding.

“We got him.” Dean stood on a beat up table barely able to support his weight. He wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here, or why people even turned to him, but he was too tired to care at this point. 

 

“We paid for it.” Dean swallowed, jaw set in a tense line. “Paid — paid a damn hefty price if you ask me. But we got ‘im. Routes are clear for now, and we’re operating as usual. I want volunteers to post as guards around the pigeon’s cell. We need this fucker  _ alive _ , so no funny business.”

Dean paused to scrub a grimy hand over his face, “We bury the dead at dawn.” Anything else could wait for tomorrow.

Dean stepped down from the table, meandering through the dwindling crowd and shrugging off well-meaning pats. He doesn’t miss the small quirked grins some smirk when they think his back is turned. He doesn’t think anyone is all that choked up over John’s death, but the majority had the tact to pretend.

He used some of his water rations to clean the blood off of himself after hauling John’s body inside; The tar from the net is harder to scrub away with his supplies, but he made do. Being cleaner than he’s been in weeks doesn’t lessen the filth he feels encrusted within. Doesn’t ease the crawling insects of guilt.

John’s growled shouts to ‘ _ Fire fire fire’ _ replay in his head like gunfire, blasting holes into the thinning shreds of his composure with every minute that eked by in the silence of his room.

He didn’t notice the door opening or Sam sliding up beside him to wash his face and hands of blood until his brother pressed close enough for their shoulders to touch.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam’s voice was thin, barely there.

“Hey, Sam.” Dean managed, ringing out the frayed washcloth. He turned, looking up at his brother’s pale face smeared with demon blood and a bit of his own. “Come’ere.” He sighed, reaching to grasp Sam by the back of the head to tug him closer.

Sam huffed quietly, not having the energy to fuss that Dean was still treating him like a kid. He let Dean wipe the blood from his face, blinking watery eyes closed when the cloth passed over his right eye, blown and bloodshot from the fight.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Dean stilled, sucking in a slow, measured breath. Exhaling, he continued, staring down a stain of demon blood against Sam’s scruff as he thumbed it away on the soiled cloth.

“Dean— “

“Don’t.” He didn’t mean to growl, but he couldn’t hear this now. All he wanted was to get them clean and get his brother to sit the hell down before he fainted.

Sam reached to grab Dean’s wrist, snatching the cloth from his hand and chucking it next to the basin of water. “I’m serious Dean, it wasn’t your fault.” He stepped forward as Dean stepped back. “He shouldn’t have rushed Blue, he knew what that thing was capable of. We all knew.”

Hemmed in, Dean decides to do what he usually does when cornered with the truth. Get pissed about it. “You’re really going to do this now? The man just fuckin’ died Sam. Maybe wait till morning before saying he deserved it!” It was low. He regretted it as it a soon as it slipped from his mouth.

Sam blanched, eyes hardening.” Don’t you fucking dare, Dean. You know what I mean.” Sometimes it was easy for Dean to forget how imposing Sam could be. Sam would always be the knobby-kneed little boy he held the handlebars to his first training bike for. Or the snot-nosed brat that liked to go through his baseball cards. Sam would never be the frightening hunter that had slain more than his fair share of angels thanks to Ruby’s blood.

Abruptly, Dean deflated under Sam’s eyes, unable to see him trying to act so strong when he looked so very, very tired. “I’m…Shit, I—“His voice lodged in his throat. John had known better. He’d taught them never to underestimate those winged freaks, but that didn’t keep him from feeling like their father’s blood was on his hands.

Before he could argue, Sam’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, pressing Dean close. The acrid stench of Ruby’s unholy blood clung to Sam’s shirt, mixed with the tar covering them, but it still felt like a little piece of home.

“I know.” Sam sighed, squeezing a little tighter, the bony protrusion of his collarbones digging against Dean’s forehead. “It’s…not on you though. Any of his shit. It was never on you.” Sam ignored the snort Dean made into his shoulder.

When it felt like he could breathe again, Dean peeled himself from his brother’s arms, slapping a tempered thump against Sam’s shoulder.”We bury ‘im at dawn, whatever the case...Get some sleep, you went too hard today.” Sam looked worse than he ever had, and Dean didn’t know if he would recover from this one. He couldn’t stomach the idea that this might be the one to number Sam’s days. So soon after John, Dean couldn’t entertain the idea of losing Sam too. Without Sam, nothing would be worth it anymore.

There would be no reason to fight.

“You too. You’re going to need it. They’re going to look to you Dean, you know that.” Sam slowly peeled out of his clothes, grimacing as his joints popped like a man twice his senior. His rib cage moved under his skin when he stretched, Dean hadn’t even realized how much weight he’d lost till now.

Sleep was fleeting, more so than usual. Laying in the dark listening to Sam breath didn’t bring the quiet ease it usually did. Every once in a while, Sam’s breath would wheeze, a hollow, scraping sound that tugged the weight of encroaching slumber from Dean’s eyes. He would wait for those seconds it took for Sam to exhale on a ledge, prepared to vault from bed to his brother’s side if they didn’t resume. But they did, time and time again, but each one felt like a set up to lure him out of diligence. That the next one would be the one he let slip and it would be too late.

_ “Protect your brother, Dean. Whatever it takes.” _ John had said it nearly every day since they found out Sam could stomach the Blood and John made it the key to their survival. Before they found Ruby, they bled every demon they came across. Sam had been John’s key to taking this hell by the horns, and Dean had always been a part of that means. A bodyguard to get between Sam and anything that would threaten him, and in turn, their prosperity.

He knew he was disposable parts to John. Always had been. But that didn’t lessen the sting of losing their last surviving parent to beings that were supposed to be on their side. Both sets of grandparents and their mother had prayed every day of their damn lives and it hadn’t meant a thing.

They might have well been praying to air.

 

* * *

 

He underestimated how long it would take to get this shit-show in order again. The bodies were buried at dawn, dug as deep as they risked without getting into the water table that fed into the plant’s ancient system. Runes were seared into flesh and carved into bone, preventing the unholy creatures in the darkness from creeping into the fresh earth to use their loved ones against them.

All standard practice during the end of the world where they couldn’t risk fires.

Schedules had to be rotated and filled, scouting parties assigned, and watches established. John left a mess in his wake, and Dean never had the time on his hands to notice before now. He’d been thrust into a role he had no desire to take, but there was no one else willing or able. Sam wasn’t healthy enough, and no one wanted the responsibility of all their lives on their shoulders. Dean fell in line like he always had. Someone to fill a place.

It took three days for him to square off with the cell in front of him, the fetid smell of standing water clinging in the dank hallway. In the pits of the plant barely any air circulated, drifting from the stairwells or the ladders in pathetic gusts whenever anyone closed a door above. It held only empty rooms covered in mold, or the miniscule supplies they could afford to let mildew this far down.

Inside the cell, something shifted, a craggy breath drawn in the dark. He couldn’t put this off any longer.

The weight of the angel’s stolen blade felt like armor in his right hand. A solid weapon that could end the beast inside as effortlessly as Blue had killed so many of them- eaten them like animals, eaten their  _ souls _ .

The door was cold, sending ice up his fingertips as he gripped the latch to heft the cell door wide. Tar and blood saturated his nose instantly, obliterating the wafting notes of the hallway once he’d stepped over the threshold.

He groped for the wall, pressing his back against it as he fished his flashlight hung at his belt with his free hand. It was pitch within, only the faintly glowing sigils etched into the walls threading eerie glow worm tendrils.

The posted guard outside closed the door after him, and Dean clicked the flashlight to life. Seeing Blue now, it was hard to imagine this broken creature was the same menace that had terrorized them for months.

The angel still lay inside the tangled net, wings a broken mass of awkward angles and splayed feathers. Blood pooled on the floor from some unseen wound, a silver glint against inhuman crimson. His eyes were sightless and wide, staring into nothingness. If Dean were naïve, he would have thought Blue had perished here in the dark.

“So you’re an angel? Huh, Funny, up close you look like my bitch.” Dean sneered, taking an advancing step. Blue’s pupils focused, swiveling in his direction without blinking. “Got your attention?”

Dean closed another foot between them, crouching on his heels to peer down at the celestial with cold eyes. “Good. That’ll make this easier. I’m going to tell you how this is going to go, you soul-eating freak. You’re going to tell me what I want to know, or you’re going to regret it. Got me?  _ Pigeon _ ?” He waved the blade in front of Blue’s face, snickering when that finally got a blink and a growl.

Blue shifted in the net, the grinding crunch of his wings pulling against his back loud in the still air. He swallowed, reconsidered, and hacked a mouthful of coagulated blood onto the cement below. His tongue peeked past cracked lips, wetting them with pinked saliva. For a moment, Dean really thought he was going to speak, but as the seconds crept by a slow grin peeled the angel’s lips backed from his teeth.

Blue laughed a horrible, low emotionless thunder that filled cell until Dean felt like it would crumble around them from the sheer  _ wrong _ of the laughter.

“Quiet,” Dean demanded, but the Angel kept on. Gooseflesh prickled Dean’s skin, crawling fingers up his spine. It was teeth in the dark, menacing at the nape of his neck, licking out for a place to strike. “ _ Quiet _ !” It was shrill. Desperate.

The only thing that cut off Blue’s laughter was another ragged cough, and he spat another foul mouthful onto the floor.

“Don’t fuck with me.” Dean ground out, leaning down. There was only a scant foot between their faces. He could smell the bloodstains on Blue, some the angel’s, some his victim’s. “I will fucking Wing you to make you talk, don’t fucking doubt that. Do you hear me? I’ll rip them out at the root if I have to!”

Blue stilled, eyes widening with a madness that Dean had only seen out of men on the brink. There was nothing behind those eyes. Nothing that Dean could recognize as a person. Emptiness.

Even injured, Blue was fast. A feral snarl ripped from the angel as he surged forward, barreling into Dean with the force of a linebacker weighted by the mass of feathers on his back. Dean hit the floor gasping, but he was already lashing out.

He caught Blue with the blade, slicing a hard line up the length of his left cheek. The wound blazed blue, a flash of light in the darkness.

Blue screamed, recoiling from the blade with a warbling cry that sounded as alien as it did pained. He tripped within the netting, crumpling to the ground with a groan as he clutched at the wound leaking his grace into the air in blue-white motes.

“Try that again and I’ll cut your dick off with this blade, you’d feel that too huh fucker!” Dean sprang to his feet, brandishing the blade until Blue crawled himself to the back of the cell, covering himself the best his ruined wings would allow.

Shaking, Dean reached back to slam his hand against the door. “Open it up.” He barked, eyes never straying from Blue even as he backed from the cell. 

“You okay, Boss?” The thin, near skeletal guard, inquired from his position by the door, large eyes shadowed by his knit cap.

Dean sighed, sheathing the blade at his hip and stowing the flashlight. “Don’t call me Boss, Garth. We’ve known each other for four years.”

Garth smiled, huffing a thin laugh that rattled through his body in a wave. “Doesn’t mean you’re not the Boss now. Sounds like you got a rise out of Blue though…He’s been real quiet.” He tugged his ratty coat tighter around himself. The cold of the hall must be eating away at him, but he’d volunteered for the rotation, and it wasn’t like Dean anyone else to spare to argue.

“Yeah, could say that. Watch ‘im. He’s still got fight in him - he won’t for long.” Dean smirked, reaching out to grip Garth’s gaunt shoulder. “Shift’s up in an hour then get up to the mess.” He started off to the stairs, scrubbing sludge from his cheek with his shirt sleeve with a hiss.

By this time tomorrow, they’d get something out of Blue. He’d make sure of it.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Graphic Torture ahead

 

Revelation 1:3          

Blessed is the one who reads aloud the words of this prophecy, and blessed are those who hear, and who keep what is written in it, for the time is near.

* * *

  
  
  


“I deserve to be there.” Ruby groused.

 

Dean was getting sick of Ruby’s incessant bitching.

 

“Without me, you wouldn’t even have him.” She tried to round in front of him in the hallway, but Dean sidestepped her, continuing on to meet the others at the base of the stairs.

Dean spared her a glance, sneer curling his lips. “You didn’t bring him down single-handedly bitch. You would kill him the moment our backs are turned, and we need him alive. So, you’re benched. Problem?” He paused long enough to rest his hand on his sigil-adorned knife, one Ruby herself had helped him craft. It could kill just about anything, Were, Shifter, Demon- it had been coated in layers upon layers of blood and magic until it sang with it. After today he’d gather up a vial of Blue’s blood, and hopefully, a new coat could be twisted into the metal to start sticking angels as well.

The demon’s jaw clenched, pretty face contorting with barely-restrained rage. “Watch it, Winchester. Just because your dad bit it, doesn’t mean you’re the new shit.” She hissed, spinning about in a whirl of dark hair to storm down the way they’d come.

There had been too much outcry for Blue’s blood for Dean to rest easy. Nearly everyone wanted him dead, information be damned. They couldn’t risk someone getting ahead of themselves and killing the Angel before they got everything out of him they could.

Dean was taking only the handful of people in this dump he could trust. His brother, Benny, Jo, and their resident angel specialist - Kevin. Kevin had spent nearly five months in an angelic prison camp that housed humans as go-to batteries when they needed a top off in a hurry. John blew through with a group and slaughtered the few Angels guarding them, but Kevin was by far the diamond in the rough. The kid had an uncanny intelligence, and he’d picked up more of the angel’s language than anyone Dean had ever seen.

It didn’t take long for the group to fall in step beside him, and they descended into the bowels of the Plant, down, down, until the familiar stink returned. “If you don’t think you can cut it, get out. We don’t need anyone fainting in here.” Benny mumbled gruffly, trying to broad-stroke-it, but everyone knew he was speaking to Kevin.

“I got this.” Kevin insisted, swallowing a hard lump in his throat.

Dean glanced at his brother, sharing a small indulgent smirk between them. If Kevin thought he could handle it, fine. There was no time for hand-holding.

 

 

 

They converged on the room, and Blue rustled on the floor. The angel could sense the danger in the air. The creature postured, stretching the net taut against his mangled wings with a threatening growl that sounded startlingly avian from a being that looked so humanoid.

Benny and Jo flanked to Dean’s side while Sam and Kevin kept back against the closed door. Dean couldn’t risk either of the two being injured, and even though Jo was as human as they came, she could kick Dean’s ass on a good day. Between the three of them, roping the injured Angel wasn’t going to be difficult.

Chains clanked in their hands; thick, spelled lengths Max conjured up by hand. It was a test run for them, but there was no time like the present.

Blue lashed out, a hand diving through the rip in the net. The angel’s movements were sluggish and uncoordinated, making it a prime target for Benny to reach out and capture in his iron grip. The vampire had strength to spare, and Blue’s wrist cracked viciously in his grip.

Jo’s kick to the angel’s side sent him sprawling, and the two were on him before Blue could recover.

“Tie him down,” Dean smirked, kicking around until he found one of the metal loops drilled into the thick concrete. ”Anchor him here, then we’ll cut the netting off.”

Benny pressed Blue, pinning him with a booted foot to the back against the damp cement until Dean and Jo could wrap the lengths of chains around his shoulders, waist, and arms before securing them to the floor. By the time they were done Blue could barely move, save to kick and dig at the floor with his blood-soaked boots, completely at their mercy.

Sam stepped forward to cut the netting away, nose scrunched in distaste as he cast the ruined lengths to a corner, tar sticking to his fingers with every cut.

Blue’s wings flopped limply free, a mass of clumped feathers and grating bones. Dean whistled low, walking a slow circuit around Blue as the rest of them set lanterns up to fill the room with warm light. “Lookin’ like shit, Blue. Maybe you want to start talking now before we get to it.”

The toes of Blue’s boots dug into the cement, teeth gnashing as a fresh snarl filled the chamber with his outrage. His wings snapped out, flared to life by the glint of a blade in Dean’s hand. The left buffeted into Benny, sending the vampire into the wall with a hard grunt, and the other caught Jo’s leg, knocking her to the floor.

“Mother f—” Dean hissed, snatching a bucket from Kevin’s hand. “Want to do this the hard way ugly? Fine.” He tipped the mixed batch of fresh holy oil and tar onto Blue’s wings.

As his wings were slicked and weighted to the floor, Blue began to snap at them in Enochian, words forming around harsh syllables that caused Kevin to step back into the wall.

“He’s…He’s uh, cussing you out.” Kevin felt the need to say the obvious. Dean knew when he was being told to go to hell, it was all about body language, and if looks could kill Dean would be a mere plume of smoke by the hatred in Blue’s eyes.

“Good. Least he’s talking.” Dean chortled thinly, tossing the bucket to Sam. “Let’s get this over with. The faster you talk, Blue, the less this will hurt.”

Dean’s eyes cut to Jo and Benny, “Hold down the left one. We’ll start with righty.” Dean rounded Blue’s prone body, reaching down to grip the sodden length of Blue’s broken radius. The angel gasped, thrashing against the chains as anger gave way to desperation.

“Where is your garrison?” Dean waited, staring down at the writhing angel, willing him to speak before he had to make the first cut. Blue only spat another growled curse.

The first cut severed the base phalanx, and a chunk of Blue’s primary feathers fell to the ground after the bone and tissue. Blue screamed a piercing sound that tore through the cell and beyond.

“Your garrison!” Dean shouted over the agonized creature, hand poised for the next cut. After minutes Blue’s pain tapered down into ragged pants, and he snarled weakly. Kevin translated it as, “Haggard dogs.”

 

The next cut tore away the ulnare, a meatier chunk of flesh falling against Dean’s shoes, and a spurt of bright blood fountained. Blue’s scream took on a new pitch, and Kevin whimpered in the midst of it, staring in horror as the angel bucked against the chains. Blue’s hands worked back and forth into fists, nails scrabbling at the cement until they splintered.

“Tell us dammit!”

Dean sawed the first wing to a hand-length stump before the first word broke from Blue’s lips. The angel broke into a strangled wheeze, coughing for breath through the haze of pain. His lips formed around warbled words, bloodshot eyes turned up towards the ceiling so far it looked to Sam as if the blue irises had rolled up into his skull.

Kevin gripped at the book of notes in his hands, “Brothers.” He began to translate the angel’s choked words, monotone in his terror. ”Brothers why have you left me to die.”

“Goddammit. We can stop this if you just  _ talk _ !” Dean’s hands were stained in silvered red. He passed the knife to his left hand to wipe the excess on his shirt, only now noticing the hard tremble of his hand when he brought it to his chest.

No one had been prepared for the angel’s screams.

Another cut, another mass of feathers. “Please. Gabriel. Please. Balthazar. Dear sister, deliver me.” Kevin’s translation continued, his young face drawn. 

The next cut and Blue broke down into screaming sobs that left his thin voice cracking. It reminded Dean of John’s broken wails bent over the body of their mother. He’d never heard a sound so haunting. Until now.

Dean dropped the knife with a clatter, staring down at the ruined back of Blue below him. The feeble stumps twitched against broad shoulder blades; The white of the bone stark against the rough wounds. The being weeping below him wasn’t the warrior Dean expected to torture today.

He looked up, sweeping over everyone in the room. At some point Kevin had left the room, the distant sound of him getting sick in the hallway heard in the pause where Blue sucked in ragged breaths. Everyone one of them looked moments away from the same, even Benny.

Dean stepped away, bending to retrieve and sheath the bloodied knife on his hip without bothering to clean it on his pant leg. He was drenched by this point, there was no clean spot to be found. “L—” His first attempt sounded brittle, “Leave him. Maybe if we let him stew like this a few days, he’ll finally talk.” He tried to sound the confident leader, but Sam’s wide eyes told him he sounded as terrified as everyone else.

Sam shuddered an exhale, hugging his arms around himself as if he was trying to find a way to banish Blue’s quieting keens from his ears. “Dean, his …His head, it’s glowing or something.” A hand broke away from his chest to point vaguely at Blue’s forehead. A crown of three pin-prick dots trickling a spidery dribble of blood burned with Blue’s grace on his forehead, barely there and only noticeable in the dim of the room.

“So? Let’s get the hell out of here.” Jo hurried to snatch up the length of ruined netting.

“Sam, let’s go.” Dean gestured for him to move first, waiting till everyone else filed out before sparring one last look at the angel they were leaving behind. Except, he guessed Blue wasn’t much of an angel anymore without wings.

  
  


* * *

 

 

Dean was going to kick his ass from here til Tuesday if he finds out he did this, but Sam knew what he saw.  He’d seen the weird marks on the angel’s head, and the niggling thought that there was something to them wouldn’t go away.

He’d waited until he knew who was on shift to guard the door before he eased out of the shadows, clutching his thick coat around his diminishing frame.

“Hey, Ruby.” He grinned, walking up towards the demon who wore a constant look of boredom. She was filing her nails, leaning against the door and quietly chuckling every time she heard a piteous noise from inside.

She looked up, brow quirking.” Hey there, big boy. Coming down here to keep me company?” She lowered the file, tucking it into her back pocket. “Blue’s whimpering is getting me a bit in the mood…” Her eyes flashed black, a stark contrast to her gleaming white smile.

“Very funny, no. I want in.” He gestured to the cell.

“Uh…huh. And why’s that? Dean know you’re down here?”

Sam’s face pinched, “No, contrary to popular belief, he’s  _ not _ my keeper. Why do you care anyway? You wanted a first-hand look at Blue since the start. Come in with me, but no killing him.” He stared her down, face hardening the longer Ruby’s smirk stayed in place.”I’m serious. I’m going in here to look at something. That’s it.”

Ruby held his gaze a moment longer before shrugging.”Yeah, whatever. Go on, not like I can open it anyway. Your dear trusting brother had it spelled against demons too.” She sneered, stepping away from the door with obvious distaste.

“Can you blame him?” Sam smirked in reply as he advanced on the door, muttering a few words to deactivate the runes holding it in place.

They’d left Blue in ruins, and there he remained. Had he been human or anything like it, he would have bled out hours ago.

The floor was tacky with a mixture of the tar and angel’s blood, sticking to the soles of their shoes as they eased into the cell. Sam fished his lantern from his hip, striking a match to flare it to life.

“Fuck, you guys really messed him up!” Ruby cackled, hurrying forward so she could hover over the mutilated remains of Blue’s wings. “I could hear his screams from upstairs. Everyone could. You should have  _ seen _ them.” She reached out, but Sam was quick to swat her hand away.

“Focus, for once,” Sam grumbled, crouching low with a pained sigh. The sickness crept stone into his joints, and every day he felt more brittle and stiff.

Blue hadn’t stirred in the minute they were in the cell. Sam wasn’t sure if the angel even knew they were there. It wasn’t until Sam shined the lantern directly in front of his face that the creature’s pupils contracted, and Blue raised his head to bare a weak snarl towards the shining light.

“There.” Sam pointed, inches away from the angry looking pits in Blue’s forehead. There were three of them, all raised and red with a hollow center that delved down into tissue and bone, crusted over with blood. “They were glowing yesterday. Hey, go get me a bucket of water and a rag will you?”

“Am I your maid?” Ruby huffed, but another withering look sent her off down the hall all the same.

Blue strained against the chains. As soon as his shoulders pressed up into the restraints, his body went slack with a hiccupped gasp of pain and another lazy stream of brackish blood oozed from one of the open stumps on his back.

Sam swallowed, watching the morbid trail of liquid in the dim light of the lantern. “I don’t…supposed you’ll tell me what those things are will you?” He asked into the dark, unable to meet the being’s eyes. Angels had doomed the planet to chaos, but Sam couldn’t stomach this level of retribution. He would have rather killed the angel than capture him, but information was at a premium these days. The more they knew, the greater their chances of survival.

Ruby returned, and Sam wrung out the cloth before pressing it to the caked blood on Blue’s head. For once, Blue didn’t even try to put up a fight. The water in the bucket ran red before Sam could clearly see Blue’s forehead, but what he found was evening more puzzling than the light.

He leaned, peering as close as he dared.”There’s—something in here. Metal?” Sam’s eyes fell down to Blue’s, “Why is there metal in your head? Angel’s don’t need brain surgery or anything.” The species could heal just about any wounds to their vessels. Angels weren’t even constrained to the bodies they wore, just like demons, they only wore meatsuits. People had given up their lives to house the incorporeal hands of death. More than once, Sam wondered what happened to the people’s souls that were pushed aside to house  _ greater _ beings.

Blue’s eyes hardened to a stony glare, but at least it was a reaction other than growling. Sighing, Sam pressed further, “Work with me. I can-“ He groped for any bargaining tool he could, “-I’ll talk to Dean to see if he’ll untie you if you answer. Is there something in your head?”

Blue stared so long Sam was sure this question would go unanswered as well. After what felt like minutes, Blue nodded. “Why? Why is there metal in your head?” Once again, Blue lapsed into silence, eyes sliding off to stare vacantly into the corner.

“Fine. Be that way.” Sam huffed, passing off the lantern to Ruby’s hovering.” Hold it close.” He instructed, and reached out. His thumb pressed into the middle hole, using the pad of it to feel around the open wound until his skin scraped over the thin, cold metal lodged inside.

Blue’s eyes flashed bright with a surge of grace, and the angel jerked against the chains, legs thrashing as sharp, strangled gasps of pain pulse from his throat.

“Shit!” Sam snapped his hand back, staring down at the silvery blood staining his fingertip. “What the hell was  _ that _ ?”

“Interesting, that’s what.” Ruby reached out to shove him back until he toppled unceremoniously on his ass in the muck. The sharp file from her back pocket gleamed in the lantern light, and she bent before Sam had any hope of picking himself up to stop her.

The file dug deep in an angle, jamming against the center hole until the sound of metal on metal scraped from the wound. Blue screamed, body going taught against the chains as if he was trying to levitate to the ceiling. As the scream reached a fever pitch, it suddenly died in Blue’s throat. All the life left the angel’s body in a startling crumple, his entire form stilling against the cold floor with a miniscule breath. Sam was sure Ruby had killed him.

“Wait.” Ruby waved off Sam’s initial breath of panic and removed the file.

Blue stuttered back to life with a groan, bright eyes blinking hard into the lantern set in front of his face. His eyes trail up, wide and afraid. A string of words left his mouth, the same language he’d spoken before, but the tones were softer less commanding.

“I…I don’t understand.” Sam was whispering, but he didn’t know why. Something in the air had changed.

Blue’s bloody, broken nails scrape against the floor, and a quiet mewl of suffering broke past his pale lips.” Where am I? Where is my brother?”

His eyes search the room, taking in the blood, and the protruding bones against his back twitched. Fresh pain wrote itself over Blue’s face, “M-my wings!” He gasped, trying in vain to crane his head over his shoulder, but he’s tied too tightly. “No! Nononono!” He strained once more, but as soon as Sam expects him to collapse under the strain, Blue stilled.

A flash of blue-white flared behind the three holes in Blue’s head, and the open look of loss and fear melted from his face, leaving only emptiness. Blue’s body went slack against the floor, and only the thin wheezed breaths in the flickering light moved his chest.

“Ruby…What the hell did we just see?” Sam stood, groping for the light without wanting to get any closer to Blue than he had to.

The demon was uncharacteristically quiet, still staring down at Blue like a hawk watches unsure prey. “Beats me, Sam. I’ve never seen an angel do  _ that _ before.”

That’s what Sam was afraid of.

“I have to tell Dean.” And maybe Dean would stop yelling long enough to listen.

  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

Isaiah 13:9

Behold, the day of the  Lord comes, cruel, with wrath and fierce anger, to make the land a desolation and to destroy its sinners from it.

 

* * *

  
  


Screams filled his dreams. Not the usual anguished sounds of hearing his friends and family die, no, these were different. The depths of their pain were beyond comprehension. The kind of screams that froze his insides and quaked him to the core. The screams of angels.

 

Dean flailed awake, grasping at his thin blanket to shield himself from the terrors within. It had taken half an hour to scrub his hands free of Blue’s blood before he could throw himself down for another night of restless sleep. It was harder to let darkness drag him under on the nights his and Sam’s schedules didn’t align. Knowing that his brother was nearby within arm’s reach allowed a few of the knots tensing his shoulders unwind. 

 

He looked over at the neighboring bed, relieved to see the sizable lump stretched out on the thin cot. Sam snored softly, lungs in slightly better condition today than they’d been the day before. It was promising. It was...something.

 

Dean bent over his bed, rummaging around until he found the flask that woefully only contained bitter tasting water. He’d do just about anything for a beer or five right about now, but using what precious little they had to brew alcohol was lunacy. ‘Scraps’ was not a word around here, not when every calorie in and out was precious. Bones could be ground, peels composted, and anything else melted or made into something useful.

 

The tepid water hit a back tooth and Dean blanched, grumbling as he idly rubbed at his jaw. He’d lost a few back teeth a handful of years ago, but he tried to keep his teeth in good condition. They had to. Going to the dentist now consisted of just waiting around long enough for it to start getting serious and knocking it out of your head before the tooth could get infected or create an abscess. This one, he suspected, was just a wisdom tooth he’d never gotten the luxury of getting taken out. It was just one more thing on his old life’s ‘to do list’ that the apocalypse blew to shit.

 

Sam stirred, groaning low as he wrestled himself awake. He moved like an old man, grumbling quietly as he turned his face into the pillow and rolled slowly onto his stomach. It took him a few minutes to rouse himself to blinking his eyes open, and even longer to lurch upright and lean against the wall. His chest rose and fell in a deep, grounding breath, and he turned to notice Dean for the first time in since he’d woken.

 

“Mornin’.” They laughed quietly at their own private joke. There were no clocks or accurate ways to tell time, everyone’s internal clock just got used to their shifts, or the last person on rotation would fetch you once it was your turn. Only runners needed to have a pulse on the sun, and neither of them was on schedule for that any time soon.

 

Morning routines usually consisted of pulling on yesterday’s clothes, so there was little to keep them away from breakfast for long. It wasn’t much to look forward to, but any food was better than an empty stomach.

 

Sam chewed carefully on a piece of roughly milled bread, picking his way through the small meal with visible effort. “Dean?”

 

Dean looked up, licking a drop of soup from his lip, not wanting to waste a morsel. “What?” He knew that look. Sam had a shit poker face. His face got this vaguely constipated look when mulling over something that bothered him, and he was practically squirming in his seat.

 

“First, I know you’re going to get pissed, so just, chill for a minute okay?” Now Dean was on high alert, food forgotten. “I went to Blue’s cell  — ”

 

“ _ What _ ?” Dean dropped his bread, hissing over the dented table.

 

“I know, just  _ hold on _ . He was still strapped down, you castrated him it wasn’t like he was going to do anything. He couldn’t.” Sam insisted, staring down his brother’s glare with practiced ease. “I know what I saw when we were all in there, Ruby had my back, we were fine.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he braced himself for what was to come. “Oh yeah, taking the goddamn demon in the cell with an angel, great strategy there.” 

 

Sam puffed an aggravated breath, “Can you just,  For  _ one _ second, listen to me? There’s something in his head, Dean. Something...strange. I pressed on one of the holes in his skull, and it was metal. Then Ruby did it too and he just spazzed out. Two different spots, two different reactions. I have no idea what it means but, it means  _ something _ .”

 

As much as Dean heard the words, nothing passed through the red haze that settled over his senses. Just knowing Sam was stupid enough, arrogant enough to go into that angel’s cell with only that bottom-feeder beside him when he was already so weak…

 

“I can’t fucking believe you.” He started, pushing his food aside.”I didn’t want to put Ruby on guard rotation to start with, and now I know why! You used that to get in didn’t you?” Dean’s voice was slowly climbing, and others were starting to glance over in the cramped Mess, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

Sam’s face lowered a few degrees, frown curling on his lips. “So? You didn’t listen to me to start with, and I was right. I can’t help it you’re too pigheaded to see--”

 

“To see what? That the angel has some head-gear? Who cares Sam! I don’t care if I have to cut his goddamn legs off to get something out of him, focus on that!”  Dean was tired of this. Every time Sam ended up doing something stupid Ruby was always in his shadow. 

 

And speak of the literal devil.”Can you two cram it? Little early in the morning for a Winchester pissing contest isn’t it?” Ruby sauntered in, picking at her nails with the same file she’d jammed into Blue’s head the night before, flecks of dried blood caking the metallic grating.

 

“Oh hell no, you don’t get a say, bitch. You let someone in the cell when you were supposed to be guarding the angel.” Dean stood, rounding on the demon with a renewed fire in his eyes.

 

”You’re off guard duty and on scouting.” He snapped. Sending a demon on scouting missions was as good as a strapping a target on her back. Angels came after humans when it suited them, but they would move mountains to exterminate a hell-spawn. One glance would be all it took to have a pigeon after Ruby, and that’s what Dean was counting on.

 

What he didn’t anticipate was the visceral anger that rolled off Sam before even Ruby could react. Sam stood, jostling the table hard enough to slosh their soup and spill chipped cups of water to the floor. 

 

“Like hell she is.” Sam snarled, crowding into his elder brother’s space with a looming air of danger Dean hadn’t though his diminished body was capable of anymore. “You know what would happen, you’re  _ counting _ on it. She’s not going anywhere.” There was a threat threaded into those words. 

 

Dean reeled, lips parting in a harsh sound of disbelief. They’d fought like cats and dogs since they were kids. Quarrels and even fights had broken out, but Sam had never looked at him like this before. Like they weren’t even brothers.   
  
“Would you look at yourself? You’re a damn junkie Sam! Before you started chugging demon blood, you would have thrown her out on her ass for a lot less. Now what? You going to fight me for her?” Dean reached out, pushing against Sam’s chest to force him to take a step back. As hopped up as Sam was, Dean had weight, health, and a clearer head in his favor.

 

“Don’t make me, Dean.” Sam’s voice took on a growl, but a firm tap against his arm from the demon at his side eased the tension out of his shoulders, and he looked over.

 

Ruby shot a look between the brothers, a smirk in her eyes, but a feigned look of concern on her face. “Hey, chill there baby. Let’s take a lap. I can run a few errands for the boss over here.” She snorted, eyeing Dean once more as she laced her fingers with Sam’s and tugged him away towards the door. “Gotta be a team player, right Dean?”

 

“Choke on it, bitch.” It wasn’t the most mature response, but Dean was confident everyone else felt the same. Witches, shifters, even Weres he could tolerate them more than demons. Demons were the other half of the Big Problem wrong with the world now, and even though a chunk of them had thrown their lot in with humans, it didn’t mean Dean was going to trust them. Not today, not ever.

  
  


* * *

 

It was Dean’s round on watch tonight. The conversation over breakfast had settled like bees in his stomach, repeating Sam’s words in angry buzzes in the quiet of the hall. Only the quiet, choked sounds of the angel chained to the floor behind the door at his back broke the silence. 

 

So Blue had holes in his head, who cared? Angels were psychos anyway, just because one had brain damage didn’t mean anything to Dean...but Sam was rarely wrong about this sort of thing. Kid always had an empathy streak that bit him in the ass, but he’d made the call to let Max in, and the witch was invaluable to them now.

 

“Shit.” He cussed into the dark, scrubbing a dirty hand over his face as he turned to regard the door. It took five minutes to convince himself to open it, but curiosity got the better of him.

 

The cell stank. The blood was festering, a congealed mess on the floor, melding with the spilled oil and tar. The masses of the angel’s wings lay dispersed in the muck, the faint scent of stagnating meat and bones clinging to the once imposing appendages. Blue hadn’t been able to move, leaving him in the puddle of sticking, putrid blood. The clothing he’d worn under his armor was in ruins, either damp from the mildewing cell or from the winging. 

 

It was disgusting, but despite it, Dean felt a dark sense of pleasure seeing the angel so ruined for what he’d done to them. For what his kind had done to humanity.

 

“My brother says you’ve got something cookin’ in your noodle, Blue,” Dean smirked, pausing briefly by the bucket of water Sam left the night before. Sniffing faintly, he picked up the bucket and unceremoniously dumped the frigid water over Blue’s head, and the angel surged to life.

 

Blue gasped, blinking weak eyes around the room until they craned up to see Dean standing above him. He spat something in Enochian, spitting on Dean’s shoes with a dull smirk of his own. 

 

Dean lowered himself down on the balls of his feet, reaching out to grasp Blue by the back of his shaved head. “You’re going to regret that.” He lifted the angel’s head as far as it would go while still restrained until Blue wheezed under the strain. 

 

With his free hand, Dean flicked out a switchblade, relying on the light from the open door and the lanterns lit in the hallway to see the pinprick holes Sam was talking about.  They were angry and raised, crusted at the edges. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d say they were infected, but could an angel get an infection?

 

Dean’s eyes flicked to the stumps on Blue’s back. Then again, maybe Blue wasn’t really an angel anymore.

 

“What the fuck are these?” He demanded, hand tightening against the back of Blue’s head. Instead of words, a vicious growl peeled back the angel’s cracked lips. 

 

“You don’t learn, do you Blue?” Dean makes the strike quick, planting the edge of his knife against the hole over Blue’s right brow, and pressing in. Almost immediately the tip scrapped metal, and he felt something shift. The growl below turned into a snarl, and the angel’s eyes flashed bright with reserved grace.

 

Dean dug deeper, straining to keep a grip on Blue’s head despite him still being chained. He angled the knife to scrape down along whatever was jammed in the angel’s skull, and the metal piece shifted slightly.

 

The strain against his hand went limp, and Blue’s body slumped, eyes rolling up into his skull. “What the...!!” Dean sprang up to his feet as the angel began to thrash and tug against the chains. He scrambled for the flashlight at his hip, illuminating the dingy room with a frantic pass. Now that the light was on him, Dean could see the angel wasn’t actively struggling against his bonds, but having some kind of fit.

 

He’d seen a man have a seizure before one Sunday in church in a life far removed from this one, but Dean remembered. Whatever was crammed in Blue’s skull went deep enough to send him into the mother of all seizures, and only the chains were stopping him from crashing around the room. 

 

It lasted for what felt like hours, but Dean was sure it was more like minutes. By the time Blue stilled, he’d started gagging and heaving, only managing to work up bile and saliva from his vessel’s empty stomach. The creature below him shivered, retched, and whimpered under the pain of the convulsions. 

 

Blue’s eyes searched him out, and their eyes locked. A hard chill tore down Dean’s spine, pooling in his stomach with the weight of lead. He wished he was looking at the other Blue right now. The one that monotoned the proclamations of ‘God’ and looked like an open void. The Blue that looked at him now only had pain and suffering, the look of an animal that knew it’s time had come and prayed for it to be swift if only to put it out of its misery.

 

He fled from the cell, slamming it behind him before his stomach could try and work up a heave of its own. Every time he was in the room with that  _ thing _ he left feeling like he wanted to puke his guts out. There was an inherent feeling of  _ wrong _ that clung to Blue. A funhouse mirror version of the creature Dean expected to find when he captured an angel. There were flashes of the expectation in Blue’s growls and cusses, but then in those instances of bone-deep pain that blared in the angel’s eyes, brighter than the grace that filled him. It left Dean shaken, and worse, unsure.

 

Dean swallowed, knowing he was going to have to march up there and do the one thing he didn’t want to right now. He was going to have to stow his shit and talk to his brother before either of them could calm down fully. This was too important to put off for the sake of their hurt feelings.

 

* * *

 

 

“Did he say anything?” Sam hovered in the hallway, jittery and faintly agitated.

 

Dean stared after him, disgust and disappointment churning in his gut that had nothing to do with Blue anymore. Sam must have taken the edge of his withdrawal from a little ‘snack’ from Ruby. Not enough to power him up, but enough to put some pep in his step. Friggin crack from literal hell.

 

“No. Not in English anyway.” Dean pressed on, slumping against the wall, resigning himself to letting Sam and his obsession with Ruby go. For now. “That’s why I wanted to bring Kevin back in.”

 

Sam smirked slightly, looking down the hallway towards the wing Kevin was likely in. The younger man rarely ever ventured from his room, tucked away with worn books and molding parchment. “You think he can handle it again?”

 

“Not really, but we don’t have a choice.” Dean shrugged, “Get him. Meet me down there.” The last thing he wanted to do was go back, but the shitty thing about running this hell hole was that he didn’t get the luxury of backing out of things anymore if it suited him. 

 

Sam reached to tie up the long strands of his hair from his face, the sharp angles of his thinning face all the more apparent. “Fine.” He was still sore Dean hadn’t listened to him from the start, but if Dean was going to call a truce, he could as well. 

 

Ten minutes later Dean opened the cell once more, three lanterns banishing the darkness in startling clarity. It was worse without the shadows, and Kevin took a small step back. 

 

“Come on kid, you’re the only one that can talk to him. He’s still chained up, he ain’t going anywhere.” Dean reached to grasp Kevin’s shoulder and shove him forward, the younger man’s shoes sticking audibly to the murky floor. 

 

Kevin glanced back, only mildly relieved to see the stolen angel blade in Dean’s hand, and Dean’s spelled blade in Sam’s. Sighing, he edged forward, taking a cursory glance around. There was no section of the floor around the angel clean, and Kevin resigned himself to kneeling in the curdled mess. 

 

Blue’s eyes were open and sightless once more, angry red veins threaded through whites. Kevin tried in English to get Blue’s attention, and silence reigned. Shifting on his knees, Kevin tried once more, this time in Enochian - the language of angels. The syllables on his tongue were awkward and clumsy, but serviceable.

 

Blue stirred, eyes widening slightly as something akin to recognition animated his face. His lips parted, splitting the dry surface of his lower with a fresh cut that trickled a line of blood down his chin. The angel’s first attempt at speaking was a mere croak ending in a frustrated exhale. 

 

“Can I —  Oh, thanks.” Kevin looked up to see Sam already passing off a canteen to him. Getting an angle where Blue could sip from it without most of it spilling took a moment, but Kevin managed. 

 

Blue coughed, working his tongue around his mouth. He started again, mumbling something only Kevin in his proximity could hear. After what sounded like three simple words were spoken, Blue stilled, eyes pulling shut with a tired sigh. 

 

Kevin stood, glancing down at his sodden, sticky jeans. “Awesome.” Capping the water, he walked from the cell with the other two, chewing on the tip of his thumbnail as he went.

 

“What’d he say?” Dean grunted while pushing the door closed, sealing Blue off in darkness once more. “Out with it.”

 

Kevin chewed a moment longer, “I asked him his name.”

 

“His name? Seriously? Out of all the shit you could have asked?” Dean groaned, “You were supposed to ask him what was up with the headgear.”

 

A small glare flared some life in Kevin’s anxious eyes.”How about you learn a language as ancient as the dawn of time then you go in there and ask?”

 

Sam snorted but had the tact to keep his titters to a minimum as Dean huffed indignantly. “Cut the sass and make with the report Tran, God.”

 

Kevin made took the time to zip up his jacket and return his nail to his teeth. “He said his name is Castiel.”

 

“Castiel?” The hell kind of name was that?


	7. Chapter 7

Peter: 1:20 He was foreknown before the foundation of the world but was made manifest in the last times for the sake of you

* * *

 

Dean could feel Sam’s displeasure like a dull ember radiating against his side. They could smell the stink of the room from the hallway, none of them wanted to be here.

 

“We didn’t have to do it like this,” Sam grumbled, eyeing the small group in vain for backup. “You’re the boss now Dean, you can call it.” 

 

Dean smirked, fingers flexing around the weight of the angel blade in his hand. “No one wants dissension in the ranks, Sam. We’ll all die if we start breaking apart now.” He hated being pressed for action, but the group was growing restless the longer the angel was in the compound. Winging Blue - ‘Castiel’, had settled a few fears, but others were growing angrier at the lack of information. Why have friends and family died capturing that thing if they weren’t getting any use from it?

 

Max charitably pointed out he could use the angel’s body for spell ingredients if they wanted to be done with it.

 

“Same formation as before. Castiel shows any signs of rallying, don’t hesitate.” This was going to be a last ditch effort, but it was all they had. 

 

Kevin and Sam hung back in the doorway as Dean, Benny, and Jo stalked into the room. Benny initially balked, pressing a hand to his sensitive nose with a low growl of displeasure. 

 

“Come on cupcake, breath through your mouth.” Jo snickered, stepping around a pile of Castiel’s amputated wings to bend down towards the anchors in the floor. 

 

To Dean’s surprise, Castiel didn’t respond to the chains being released from the floor, or even the same chains beings drawn around his torso. If it wasn’t for the blood-shot focus of his eyes, or the sharp rise and fall of his chest, Dean would have thought they’d already killed him. 

 

“Once we get him in, have someone flush out this goddamn room.” Old blood, decaying flesh, and vomit melded into a nightmarish combination in the cramped room where mold already made a pervasive stench.

 

Dragging Castiel’s dead weight up to a level with a room they could light wasn’t easy, but between Dean and Benny they dragged the angel up the flight of stairs and through the second level hall. They sacrificed a metal table from the improvised mess hall for an examination table and bolted it to the floor with a hasty welding job, but Dean felt confident it would hold. Castiel didn’t look like he had a lot of fight left in him, but they weren’t taking any more chances.

 

Benny locked a hand around the angel’s throat as Jo worked quickly to take off the chains from Castiel’s body. Castiel gasped and scrabbled at Benny’s wrist, but as weakened as he was, he only left the vampire with superficial cuts from his broken, chipped nails. 

 

“Strip him. Don’t want any more surprises like the friggin’ head-spikes.” Dean ordered, pacing around to thread the chains through the loops welded into the side of the table. 

 

Castiel’s struggle renewed when Jo’s hands started peeling off the sodden layer of his remaining clothing, but the threatening tip of her silver blade against Castiel’s lower back stilled the angel’s protests. Swiftly, Castiel was disrobed, and for the first time, Dean let his eyes linger on him, noting with some disgust how  _ normal _ the creature was like this.

 

Angels borrowed bodies of the devoted and stupid, and while they claimed they only did it to the willing, Dean knew better than that. While they couldn’t force themselves into a host like demons could, manipulating someone's ‘free will’ was an art form to them. Seeing angels gut your children one by one, or peel the skin off a neighbor was an easy way to shore up their ranks when an angel found itself displaced. 

 

Dean didn’t know what kind of man Castiel had slipped on like a custom suit, but the body had suffered the angel’s abuse. Hastily healed scars and bruises molted the pale olive skin of Castiel’s body, though no other identifying markings were on him. No tattoos or anything else overtly obvious, just the stretch of a lean, strong body ravished by the angel’s war. A soldier’s body, not unlike Dean’s own.

 

No part of him liked the similarities.

 

“Strap him down, clean him up. Let’s get this over with.” Dean hefted the first length of chain as Benny lowered Castiel’s body forcefully onto the table, hand pressed against Castiel’s sternum to keep him from rising back up. Castiel writhed being placed over the remains of his wings, but the chains quickly placed over his body kept him from doing anything more than squirming through choked breaths.

 

Sam and Kevin stumbled in a few moments later, Kevin staggering under the weight of two buckets of water in his arms, and Sam straining with four. It was more water than they needed to waste on the likes of an angel, but thankfully it was from the unsanitized tanks, or else Dean would have let Castiel fester.

 

The first splash of frigid water over Castiel’s bare skin tore a sharp sound of distress from him, and the second hit him moments after. He sputtered, blinking stinging water from his eyes when Sam dumped one of the buckets over his head, cleaning the worst of the blood and mess from Castiel’s face. After the final bucket was poured, Castiel was more or less clean and had surrendered to laying in a puddle of cold water that pooled under him on the dented table. 

 

Dean took up a position to the left of Castiel’s head, inclining his head for Sam to join him. “Kevin.” He prompted, hand falling back to the blade sheathed at his side. Waiting.

 

Swallowing, Kevin edged a little closer, brows furrowing as he strained for the words. Dean told him to give the broad strokes of what they were doing to the angel, curious to see Castiel’s reaction.  Sam jumped to conclusions too easily, and Dean wanted to know if this thing had submitted to whatever was drilled in his skull, or if there was something else going on here. 

 

Castiel’s heels thumped against the table, and his head thrashed until Dean dove to secure his head to the table with a belt cinched right above the oozing forehead wounds. 

 

“Got him?” Sam asked, leaned in to close to re-inspect the wounds with a faint frown now that they could clearly see. If he peered close enough, he could see the metal tips nestled in the raised, red holes in the angel’s flesh. “I think, if we cut away a bit, we can get a hold of them.” 

 

Castiel’s eyes widened with terror, and he spat up into Sam’s face with an angry snarl.

 

Sam recoiled, frowning as he swiped away the slick against his cheek. “What did he say?” He back glanced at Kevin, who was still rooted against the wall near the door, ready to bolt if things went south. 

 

Shifting in his ill-fitting trainers, Kevin watched as the angel snarled another string of harsh words towards the humans gathered around the table. “He uh, there’s some words I don’t know, but basically he’s saying you’ve no right to mess with, um, ‘Holy works’? Something about a Mother’s hand? It’s not making a lot of sense.” 

 

“Whatever. He can scream all he wants. Cut him, Sam, I’ll pull.” Dean motioned for Jo to fish into the toolbox in the corner and bring him a pair of needle nose pliers, rusted, but he at least ran them through a flame while he waited.

 

Flipping out a knife from his side, Sam positioned himself at the head of the table, looming over the prone angel with a look faintly apologetic. “I’ll make it quick.” The others snorted, but he ignored it. When he was in the right mind, Sam didn’t  _ enjoy _ torturing, even a monster like Castiel.

 

Castiel’s lips moved, but Kevin deftly translated over him. “He says the Hand of the Mother will damn you.”

 

Smirking, Sam shrugged. “Already damned, sorry to break it to you.” One of his large hands raised up to brace against Castiel’s head, and the other lowered down to press the knife tip to the rightmost hole. A gentle press split the paled flesh, and a small shift opened the cut in the other direction. It wasn’t pretty, but Sam managed to widen the wound enough where he could clearly see the metal pin protruding up from Castiel’s skull, barely enough to grip with pliers. 

 

Castiel’s vehement curses bit off into unintelligible growls as his body strained against the chains as Dean approached, pliers in hand. Castiel’s breaths came in frantic jerks, and the table groaned against the angel’s struggling, but the welding held. He was trapped, helpless against the human’s experimentation. 

 

It took a moment for Dean to get a grip on the pin, and he took a careful glance around the room. “Going to do this quick. Who knows what will happen, so be on guard.” He ordered gruffly, adjusting his hand on the grip with a quiet breath. 

 

He tugged, meaning to pull it straight out but he underestimated how embedded in Castiel’s skull the metal went. Castiel screamed, grace burning behind his eyes. The lights flickered overhead, but Dean ignored it in favor of widening his stance and bracing his free hand against the table. He could do this.

 

Gritting his teeth, Dean went for another pull and tugged with all his weight. The pin slid free, a wicked looking instrument the length of a coffee cup and the width of a darning needle. That was about as much as Dean had time to notice before the Angel’s eyes rolled up into his head.

 

“Shit, is it — ” Jo blanched, taking a step back as Castiel jerked under the weight of the chains in an arrhythmic dance of misfiring muscles.  “-is it having a fucking seizure?”

 

The table protested, and one of the holes securing the chains bent precariously, only managing to hold by luck alone. The glow of Castiel’s grace pooled behind the bleeding, empty hole, a mercurial light that blinded.

 

Minutes later, Castiel’s spasms tapered down, and his lips began to move in a quiet stream of barely-there words.

 

“What’s he saying?” Dean motioned Kevin closer, hurrying to grasp the length of chain held in place by the bent loop. 

 

He wasn’t thrilled to go closer, but Kevin complied, easing forward. Face pinched, he leaned down, craning to hear the words on Castiel’s lips. “It’s...it’s not Enochian. It’s, uh, Polish? I think- No wait, French now.” Kevin’s brows furrowed, “He’s just cycling through languages. From what I can understand - I speak a few languages you know -  he’s saying,” Kevin listened for a little longer, chewing on his thumbnail.” It doesn’t make a lot of sense honestly. He’s saying his name a lot, with different things after. ‘I, Castiel, fourth of Garrison’ then it changes, ‘Servant of God’, ‘Guided by Mother’. Crap like that, but nothing that I can see is important?” He wasn’t sure what Dean was after, but he didn’t think it was Castiel’s aimless mutterings. 

 

“Fucking of course. After all that and he still is full of bullshit.” Dean sighed, “Let’s get him up. Throw him back in the cell. We’re getting the rest of these out.” He doubted the angel would survive another one today, even if Dean was sorely tempted to do it just to find out.  

 

The cell was noticeably cleaner when they shoved Castiel back inside, leaving the chains off in favor of just keeping Castiel’s hands and feet linked together by shackles. 

 

The angel stumbled and fell, stilling on the floor of the mucked-out cell with no move to right himself into a more comfortable position. 

* * *

 

Dean woke to a loud banging against his bolted door. Instinctively he dove for the knife under his pillow and glanced at Sam who was groggily getting himself upright, too out of it to retrieve his own nearby weapon. 

 

“Dean, Dammit get your ass up!” Benny growled from outside, “It’s the damn angel!”

 

“Fuck.” Dean hissed, shoving the knife aside as he hastily grabbed for his shirt and jeans. “Hold your damn horses! Some of actually sleep you fanged dick!”

 

Dean had to give it to him, Benny didn’t snark at him with the obvious line, but he did smirk knowingly when the door swung open. Thankfully whatever comment was dancing in his eyes was shoved aside, “That angel is raisin’ Cain downstairs. Sounds like a goddamn banshee. Scarin’ the shit out of everyone.”

 

Scowling, Dean waved at Sam to catch a for more much-needed Zs, and closed the door after him.”Great. How long?”

 

“Hour or so. Garth was on watch, Says the angel started moving around a little while ago then just started screaming and ranting. Says he goes quiet sometimes and has some kind of fit, but other than that, won’t shut the hell up.”

 

Dean heard the door he closed behind him reopen as soon as they started rounding the corner. Sam never had the good sense to do a damn thing he ever told him to do, even when they were kids, it didn’t surprise him that Sam dragged himself out of bed to follow. 

 

They further they descended into the plant the louder the faint sounds of madness grew. When he finally hit the stairs to the third floor, he could hear Castiel ranting at the top of his lungs, the powerful booms of his fists hitting the metal door pounding in the dark halls. 

 

“And you will suffer under the wrath of God!” Castiel’s voice was different than the monotonous droning Dean heard from him outside the barrier that night. This was thunder and rage, passion so terrible it pulsed through the cement walls.  “For I will cast terror into those who do not believe! Strike every head, every fingertip! I  _ am _ God’s wrath!”

 

Dean drew closer, back glancing only briefly when Sam hurried to slot up behind him, a frown curled on his drawn face. 

 

They hazarded peering through the barred window that allowed the barest of air circulation into the small room, shining a flashlight into the space as Castiel tore momentarily away from the door. 

 

The angel’s back looked even worse than it had the night before. Angry black tendrils created a spider web of infection across his pale skin. The flesh had started peeling away from the tips of festering bone at the ends of the stumps, and only their depths underground prevented flies from accumulating around the open wounds. Despite the room being cleaner than it was before, the redolent aroma of rot clung to every corner. 

 

Dimly, Dean knew angels were supposed to power down if their wings were removed, but he had no idea it happened so fast. He figured with even a bit remaining Castiel would still be a formidable foe, but the deterioration of the wings said otherwise. The other wounds the angel suffered from the fight had healed, but not the stumps, or the holes on Castiel’s head. 

 

“Everyone who does not seek Him will be put to death! Great or small, Man or woman! Kneel before God or be a snake to be crushed under heel!” Castiel’s rants echoed the violent bible verses Dean recalled out of Sunday mornings, wiggling in a church pew in the summer months with his Sunday-best clinging to his sweat-soaked back. They’d been background noise then, but hearing it now on an angel’s lips left him feeling cold and bitter.

 

“I shall terrorize heathens-” Castiel spun around towards the door, crazed eyes zeroing in on Dean and Sam. He took two steps before pitching over onto the floor with a sharp screech, his whole body spasming sharply and his eyes working sightlessly even under the shine of the flashlight.

 

Moments later, Castiel staggered to his feet once more, heaving a hard breath as a trail of spittle leaked down his chin. “-terrorize heathens, wound their bodies for they oppose God.” The angel was standing on shaking legs, hard twitches jerking through his frame. 

 

Sam took a step back, wiping his hand over his mouth. “Jesus Dean...The hell is wrong with him?” He whispered, backstepping further as Castiel staggered against the door with a low hiss. 

 

Dean stayed put, squaring off with Castiel’s unblinking stare.”Feeling more chatty today?” If Castiel was going to rave, maybe he would talk.

 

A hand groped for the window, but the sigils sent Castiel’s hand reeling back with a flash and a fresh growl. “Curse you, for holding back my sword from blood.” Castiel’s gravel-thick voice sent a shiver of cold dread down Dean’s spine.

 

“Speak you crazy fuck! Where is the rest of your Garrison? You want out? You’ll talk!”

 

Castiel wavered, eyes closing in a slow, unfocused blink. For a moment, Dean was sure he was going to pass out until the angel’s eyes snapped open, and he lunged for the door with a sharp cry that sounded more like a falcon’s call than anything humanoid. 

 

Dean scrambled back at the hard ‘thump’ of Castiel’s body slamming against the door, Sam’s hand flashing out to brace him before he could fall gracelessly on his ass. 

 

It was silent in the cell now, either from the angel having another fit or maybe even hitting the door so hard he knocked himself out. Dean wasn’t going to hazard another look. “We’re taking another pin out tonight. I’m getting the blowtorch to fix the rung.” They’d knocked  _ something _ loose last night, but whether that was a good or bad thing was still up for debate. 

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

 

Matthew 24:35 E

Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.

* * *

  
  


The squat, pug-faced woman guarding the cell cast a moody gaze towards Dean as he approached, flanked with his usual posse when it came to Castiel. Darla scowled, jerking her head towards the cell with a harsh sniff.

 

“Fucker’s been chattering all day. Whatever you lot did to him fried something. He just rants or does them weird fits.” She backed from the cell, glad to get some relief. She’d had about all she could take of Castiel’s ‘holy righteousness’ for one day. “Maybe remove his tongue on this go, before he gives us all a headache.”

 

“Noted, Darla,” Dean grumbled, in no mood for Darla’s sour disposition tonight. They’d been arguing for an hour about whether to continue whatever the hell they were doing or not. They couldn’t deny that pulling out the pins in the angel’s head was yielding results, they just weren’t sure what the final pin would reveal. 

 

Jo shifted behind him as he started undoing the spell to the door, restless. She’d been the most vocal about forgoing their impromptu surgeries and getting the torture over and done with. She wanted the angel dead, not just trapped in subterranean hell. Dean couldn’t blame her, not after what Castiel had cost her. But even with revenge on the forefront of everyone’s mind, they needed to stay focused. There was no way they could repeat this process. No other angel flew solo, and none of them were as  _ off _ as ‘Blue’. The stars had aligned for them to capture Castiel, and they needed to make due.

 

The door swung open, and as soon as they stepped into the cell, Castiel was on them. The angel lurched from the shadows, a hoarse yell tearing from his raw throat. Even as diminished as he was, he bowled Benny right over, tackling the vampire to the ground in a flurry of limbs. 

 

The logistics of the attack weren’t on Castiel’s side, and an easy kick from Jo sent him sprawling. Dean and Sam were quick to step forward and haul Castiel up, twin grips locking on his biceps until Benny could come up behind them and restrain the angel in chains once more.

 

All the while Castiel screamed and spat, crazed eyes roving from person to person without ever  _ seeing _ . Dean wasn’t even sure Castiel knew who they were at this point, or if he was just lashing out instinctively. A fever burned on the angel’s skin, barely there, but hotter than he’d been the day before. 

 

Halfway to the makeshift operating room, they gave up on dragging Castiel along. They all hoisted him up between them, with Benny locking his arm around Castiel’s flailing legs. Strapping him to the table was worse. Kevin even had to help hold Castiel down until he could be secured.

 

Dean motioned for Sam to ready the supplies as he stepped forward to gag Castiel, not wanting the angel’s ranting to be a constant throughout the process. They’d all had enough of it by now. He drew close, holding out the cloth to slot between Castiel’s cracked, parched lips. 

 

The cloth barely touched Castiel’s mouth before he turned his head and bit viciously into the soft, waiting flesh of Dean’s thumb, tearing skin until crimson stained his lips. 

 

“ _ Fuck _ ! He  _ bit _ me!” Dean swore, tearing his hand back to stare down at the indentation of Castiel’s teeth in the fat pad of his palm. Blood trickled steadily down his wrist, stark against his sun-starved skin. He scowled, snatching an offered handkerchief from his brother and wrapping it hastily around the wound. He’d tend to it later, right now, he had a mission.

 

“Give me the damn pliers. Let’s get this done.” He hissed, grabbing the pliers with his free hand.

 

Twin storms of blue stared up at him as he hovered above, just like last time, but instead of the cold fury of the night before, there was fire. A fire that consumed everything in its path, pure chaos layered with hate so visceral it stalled his hand. Even on a demon, Dean had never seen eyes so deranged. 

 

Gritting his teeth, he tore his eyes from Castiel’s and lined up the tips of the pliers with the next pin situated at Castiel’s left temple. Getting a grip on the fine tip was harder than the last, and he abandoned his first attempt to have Sam cut it out as they’d done before. Castiel growled through the cut, mouth smeared with Dean’s blood.

 

“Let’s see how much fight you have in you after this,” Dean smirked, clamping the pliers tight. He pulled without warning, yanking hard and fast. An arch of blood splattered across the angel’s bound form from the tip of the pin as Dean pulled it free, and the feral snarl choked off in Castiel’s throat.

 

Dean backed away, unsure if Castiel would repeat last night’s fit. He didn’t have long to wait, he’d barely taken a step back before Castiel’s eyes fluttered and his whole body went rigid. Hard tremors pulled against the chain, the shiver-clang of the chains a growing crescendo in the room. Harsh guttural notes half-formed in the angel’s throat as he thrashed, and the longer the seizure went on, the worse they became.

 

“Shit!” Sam was the first to notice when blood began to well past Castiel’s lips, bubbling up in a steady stream to trickle down his jaw and pool on the table below. “Unstrap him, he’ll drown!”

 

“We can’t unstrap him, look at him!” Jo argued, edging away from the sprays of blood that plumed in the air when Castiel forced a ragged exhale from his mouth. 

 

“Dean!” Sam swung towards his brother, eyes beseeching.”We can’t let him die after all this.” He pressed. He knew none of this was the protocol for what to do when someone was having a seizure, but Castiel was an angel - or at least, he’d been one. None of them had thought this was ever in the realm of possibilities.

 

Blasphemy on his lips, Dean resigned himself. He surged forward, helping Sam to strip off the chains. Almost as soon as he was free Castiel’s body wretched itself from the table to crash to the hard floor below, ruining the monotone grey of the floor with fast-pooling scarlet. 

 

Dean knelt, too hesitant to reach out and try and still the creature on the floor. “Someone go get one of Max’s staunching potions, now!” He barked, and Kevin dashed, all too eager to get out of the room. 

 

Time hung suspended as they watched the angel bleed. “Looks like we didn’t need to cut his tongue, he did it himself.” Jo chortled from the corner, making no attempt to hover.    
  
Benny hung back, sleeve pressed to his nose.”Don’t mean to make myself scarce when things get hairy, but — ” His eyes were blown, wild. Before had been easy enough. The stink of Castiel’s blood had been tempered with tar and oil, but this was startlingly fresh. Benny didn’t even know if a vampire could stomach an angel’s blood, but he didn’t want to hang around and find out. 

 

“Go.” Dean didn’t need to worry about the vampire losing control on top of the angel bleeding out in front of their eyes. 

 

By the time Sam could shove the contents of a violently purple potion in Castiel’s mouth, Dean feared it was too little too late. At least Castiel had stilled, barely twitching on the floor with garbled words slurred on a mutilated tongue. The potion tapered off the blood loss within seconds, and the last of it trickled past Castiel’s pale lips to join the macabre claret halo framing his head.

 

“Is he-?” Sam ventured, kneeling to cautiously roll Castiel over onto his back. Castiel went limply, his tall, muscular frame as lax as a ragdoll’s. They waited until Castiel’s chest filled before letting out their own held breaths. His breaths were slow but strong.

 

Dean motioned Jo over to help him heave the angel back onto the table, slippery with blood and more deadweight than usual. “Let’s get him back to the cell, no telling what will wake up this time.” 

 

They cast a dubious eye towards the chains. None of them felt they were necessary at this point, Dean didn’t think Castiel could subdue a kitten, let alone one of them if he woke in transit. 

 

Dean bore the majority of Castiel’s weight as they made their way back to the third floor, the chill of the deep prickling against their skin. They were almost to the door when Dean noticed a faint quiver to Castiel’s body. He glanced down, brows furrowing as he saw the shivers that rose gooseflesh against the unconscious body in his arms. Castiel was ice to the touch, though whether it was from blood loss, the temperature, or both, Dean didn’t know. He wasn’t sure how much ‘angel’ was left in Castiel at this point.

 

Sam reached out, pressing his hand against Castiel’s forehead, then to his neck. “Dean, with as much blood as he lost, I think the cold is affecting the host body.” 

 

They continued into the cell, and the chill deepened, sinking into their skin to nip at bones.”I hate wasting resources on this thing, but Kevin, go get some blankets or something.” Dean asked wearily, thankful the younger man didn’t argue at being the designated errand boy right now.  Castiel was unconscious, so it wasn’t like they actively needed a translator anyway. 

 

Jo departed, sneering at the idea of providing creature-comforts for a literal creature, but Sam and Dean didn’t think there was any other way. They needed to know if Castiel was saner when he woke, and if they could get something out of him. Keeping him alive until they found out was just part of it.

 

Once Castiel was off the immediate floor with a thick, ugly patchwork quilt made out of whatever fabric they’d gathered from foraging and stuffed with straw, leaves, and any other insulate they could recycle, Dean felt a little more confident Castiel wouldn’t immediately keel over. Another two blankets were piled on, and they left him in the corner of the cell. Sam made sure a bucket of water was left, half wondering if the angel was so fallen now that he would need to eat or drink. He supposed they’d find out soon.

 

“This is ridiculous.” Dean sighed, staring down at his blood-streaked hands as they made their way up upstairs.”Why the hell does some angel have things crammed in his skull? Brain surgery on angels?” No matter how he turned it over in his head, it didn’t make sense.

 

“Who knows. It’s bizarre. Whatever they are, they affect something pretty deep. If the pins were in a human they’d be dead.” Sam shrugged, wiping his hands down the length of his thighs, nose scrunched. “He’s got to have some grace left to survive all that blood loss.” A yawn melded into his last word, the meager reserves of his energy depleted. 

 

Dean’s frustration lost a bit of its edge. “Get some sleep, Sam.”

 

Sam’s footsteps stilled on the landing of the stairs, “Dean, you haven’t been scheduling me rounds. You can’t treat me special, people are going to get pissed.” He frowned.

 

A harsh snort tore from Dean as he glanced down the hall, jaw setting.”Why the hell can’t I? I dare anyone to open their goddamn mouths. They wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. You’ve earned the rest, Sam.” Before Sam could protest, Dean plowed ahead.”And frankly, you don’t need to be on rounds. You’re running on fumes as it is. You wouldn’t want me scheduling someone with a broken leg or the flu or something, well, same damn difference. Get some food to stick to you and some sleep and we’ll talk, but until then,  _ rest _ .” Hearing that he was next to useless like this would sting, but Dean wanted Sam to hear it. 

 

“I can still do watch rounds on Castiel.” Sam insisted, refusing to be relegated to the position of an invalid so easily. 

 

A tense silence hung between them, Sam resolute, and Dean desperate to keep his brother from degrading any faster. “Fine. Get something to sit on, knit for all I care. But that’s the only duty you’re getting besides daily chores for a while.” Dean left no room for argument in his tone this time around, less a brother, and more of a leader. 

 

He’d never wanted to be the one guiding this sinking ship into oblivion, but like hell was he going to let anyone muck up all they’d been fighting for. 

  
  
  


* * *

 

 

Sam’s lungs prickled uncomfortably in the damp, even with a thick clothed tied over his mouth and nose. The heavy utility jacket he usually reserved for winters hung steel weights against his bones, pressing on the pressure points of his shoulders and neck. Everywhere felt brittle and stretched, popping more often than not when he moved. An old man before his time. 

 

He shifted on the milk crate, trying to relieve some of the tension. Giving up, he rose to his feet, grimacing when his knees groaned in protest. Every thirty minutes he would pace the hall, never leaving the door to Castiel’s cell out of eyesight. A lantern burned by the crate, casting a warm glow in the darkness where the electricity had been cut to this wing years ago. Their generators barely kept up with their meager demands, and fuel supplies were growing thin. 

 

Shift rotation would happen soon, and knowing Dean, he’d end up coming early. He could see Dean’s ulterior motives a mile away every time the schedule was announced, placing himself behind any shift assigned to Sam so he could swoop in and relieve him early. Dean was being overprotective to the point of stifling, but he didn’t know any other way. Dean had doted on him in the absence of both their parent’s warmth, even when Sam tried to push it away. It was smothering to only be allowed to accept without providing in return, but his days of being able to protect Dean were drawing to a close. He could feel it in his bones, the ticking of a clock. Every strike of midnight rattled within, the chains of binding eternity dragging him a little closer to the edge. Every mouthful from Ruby hastening the call.

 

He shivered, tugging his coat tighter around his tall, frail body. Stinging ants crawled under his skin when he moved, and the dryness of his tongue was never alleviated, even when holding a sip of his rations in his mouth. As much as it killed him, his body sang for mercy, begging him to call Ruby to him and indulge over and over again until the pain of his body fell away. Worse than any drug that plagued the earth before, this one promised Damnation with a capital ‘D’.

 

Sighing, he meandered back towards the milk crate, about to drop down before a sound from behind him caught his attention. He paused, craning his head towards the cell. A wet squelch, barely there, disturbed the pitch within. It was steady, only broken by a ragged gasp or a quiet clang of metal against metal.

 

He retrieved the lantern to shine it up towards the carved window, straining to see through the dim glow.

 

Castiel sat huddled in the middle of the cell, naked and streaked with dried, flaking blood. His head was bent towards his folded knees, the now-empty bucket overturned by his right foot. His hands fussed with something in the darkness, head bobbing faintly before another gasp stilled his hands. 

 

Sam stepped closer to the door, pressing his free hand flat, desperate to see what the angel was doing. He couldn’t see anything more, and he spared a brief thought to his brother. Dean would be coming soon to relieve him, a blessing and a curse if this ended up being a spectacularly stupid idea. Castiel had been so weak the day before that Sam could only assume he hadn’t the time to heal from it yet. 

 

Another minute of indecision passed before Sam threw caution aside and opened the cell. His lantern filled the small space with light as soon as he stepped inside, but Castiel didn’t react. 

 

It took two steps inside for Sam to realize what Castiel had in his hands, and another to see what he was doing with it. The wire handle from the rusted bucket was unwound and clenched tight in the angel’s shaking right fist. His left hand clumsy prodded against his forehead, guiding the end of the wire piece deeper and deeper into one of the empty holes in his skull.

 

“...She’ll put them back.” Castiel whispered, once-thunderous voice raspy and weak.”Make them worse...Make them more. I’ll serve.” The wire pressed in further and a hard spasm tore through his body, bowing his hunched body forward and throwing his head back. Blood streaked his pale face, oozing steadily from the reopened wound.

 

Sam didn’t know how the angel had any blood left to bleed.

 

Sam set the lantern down by the door and rushed forward, grabbing for the wire before the spasms that seized up Castiel’s body fully dissipated. The wire came free, and Castiel’s jerky breaths stopped, dulled eyes searching in the dark for the human Castiel had just noticed was near.

 

“No!” Castiel lurched forward, grabbing for the wire with a wild desperation.”I  _ will serve! _ ” His voice reached a fever pitch, and Sam went down, sprawling under the sudden tackle. Sam cast the wire away forwards the corner of the room, struggling to get a knee between his body and Castiel’s who still grabbed blindly for his hand, never releasing the wire had been thrown. 

 

Footsteps tore across the floor from the door, and Dean seized an arm around Castiel’s torso and hauled the angel up and off Sam with a rough tug.

 

“The fuck — ” Dean’s growl was lost in the mournful howl that filled the cell as Castiel weakly thrashed in Dean’s arms, unable to do more than dig his sore, swollen fingertips into Dean’s forearm. 

 

Dean barely kept himself from dropping Castiel as he sagged in his arms, Castiel’s cry tapering down to a ragged sob that shook his entire body. Dean had no choice but to gracelessly lower the angel to the ground, afraid he’d tip over under Castiel’s dead weight. He pressed a hand to the middle of Castiel’s inflamed back, startled to find that the fever which had dully burned the day before was near scorching now.

 

Over the years the Winchesters had heard many tears cried. Mourning a sense of self, mourning the dead, and mourning the world. But they’d never heard the tears of an angel pitched forward in between them, shoulders shuddering so violently it trembled the jagged stumps protruding from Castiel’s back. It was a terrifying sound. Centuries were in these tears, every gleaming drop containing the tales of an eon of existence. The weight of them slithered against their skin, seeping into their core, leaving them cold and hollow. 

 

The ever-present sense of keeping his wits about him dulled, and Dean hesitated going closer.

 

Castiel reached to rake his nails down the expanse of his shaved head, scouring his scalp with the jagged ends of his ruined nails. “Be done with it and kill me!” His voice broke through the sobs, rueful and lost. “Be it that then suffer!” His hands groped back, feeling the ruin of his wings with a fresh wave of sorrow pouring forth. 

 

Sam’s eyes met Dean’s, and they shared a moment of profound loss, unable to fathom what was taking place. 

 

The brief lapse in attention was all Castiel needed. A wail of outrage filled the cell as Castiel flung himself towards Dean, right hand groping for Dean’s thigh-holster. Castiel lifted the dagger from the holster before Dean even realized what he was going for. There was a stormy moment suspended in the air, one filled with the possibility. Dean was sure the angel would turn the blade around and plunge it into his chest, snuffing out the life of the human that was reason for his torment.

 

The blade struck, point digging into the thin meat of Castiel’s forehead close to the final spike. “Get her from my head!” He screamed, pressing the blade harder and harder until he threatened to split his skull. 

 

Dean and Sam surged to life, Sam grabbing for the knife, and Dean getting his arms around Castiel once more. The knife fell to the side with a clatter, and Castiel gave up the fight with one final stifled cry. 

 

They sagged to the ground, Dean locking his arms around Castiel’s shoulders even as he sat hard on his ass with a grunt. His body was trembling, adrenaline and dread melding a staccato rhythm against his ribcage.  Sam sat a few feet away, shivering in the glow of the lantern.

 

Cramped breaths filled Castiel’s chest in bursts, but the mournful cries had stopped. The angel’s face was a remote expanse of nothingness, unfocused and sightless. 

 

“Why the hell would you do that?” Sam panted, never expecting an answer, but unable to keep in.

 

Two breaths passed, “You’ll see in time.” Castiel answered, and Dean bristled behind him. It was the first coherent answer they’d gotten out of him aside from his name. Aside from spewing vitriol in English, the angel had only spoken Enochian so far, hearing their language on his tongue in earnest was disturbing.

 

Sam stole a look at Dean, a silent conversation between brothers.

 

“Why’d you do that? Any of that?” Sam pressed for more, urged by Dean’s heavy gaze.

 

Castiel’s body was a dizzying mixture of hot and cold in Dean’s arms, limbs glacial, and back smoldering embers. “I will not be Educated again — ” Castiel’s body tensed in Dean’s hold, and his eyes fluttered. Only Dean anchoring him to his chest kept the angel from tipping over onto the floor as his body went into a small series of spasms.

 

This fit was brief, lasting only a few seconds before Castiel gasped and presence returned to his eyes. 

 

Sam eased into a more comfortable position, crossing his legs and reaching to tug the lantern closer. He was starting to see a pattern. “Are the spikes in your head affecting you?”

 

Castiel’s eyes searching the darkness aimlessly, “Yes.” His voice was flat, distant. 

 

“Why are they there?” Sam continued, aware of the air of faint excitement growing from Dean’s expression with every answer.

 

“E-education.” Castiel rasped, wing stumps twitching against Dean’s chest.

 

Brows pulling, Sam tried to puzzle that out. Education?

 

“You mean they’re what, controlling you?” Dean asked this time, and immediately Castiel went rigid in his arms.  This spell was long, nearly twenty seconds. 

 

“O-okay. So, that’s a yes then?” Sam scrubbed his sleeve against the damp sheen of sweat on his forehead, despite the chill in the air. “Why were you hunting alone?”

 

The silence stretched so long Dean leaned forward to see if the angel was even still breathing. Castiel blinked heavily, eyes staying at half-mast once they opened.”Disposable. Thin the herd.” 

 

Canon fodder. A junkyard dog to chase them down, harvest, and kill all he could. They’d been terrorized by an angel made death.

 

Sam’s mind was working overtime to parse it all out, “Why are you eating souls? Why are angels harvesting us?” They’d theorized, but there were no solid answers. Demons swore the angels were losing their ‘mojo’, their grace, but that wasn’t solid intel, coming from a serpent.

 

“F — ” The words struggled on Castiel’s lips, “Forsaken...us.” He slumped in Dean’s hold, dim grace glowing behind the holes in his forehead. “Father — “ Strength left him, and his body went lax, the last shreds of consciousness fleeing his battered body.

 

Silence reigned, the Winchesters unwilling to break the stillness of the room. Castiel’s words flung heavy battering rams to their minds despite being so softly uttered. In the span of a few minutes, things had turned on their axis.

 

“Dean, if any of that is true…”

 

Dean’s jaw tensed, and he struggled to stand the spell breaking. “We don’t know if it is. He could be lying. Angels lie, just like anything else.” He stared down at the still figure on the floor, a broken doll among tainted water and blood. He bent to scoop his hands under Castiel’s armpits and drag him to the corner where the rumpled blankets lay. 

 

Sam stood on shaking legs, retrieving the mangled wire and knife with careful, slow bends. “But what if he isn’t?” 

 

Dean roughly tugged the blankets up to Castiel’s chin and stood, scrubbing his hands down the line of his jeans as if that would chase away the ghost of the angel’s skin left behind.

 

“Then we’ll find out tomorrow I guess. The last of those  _ things _ is coming out.” They were on the cusp of something bigger than they could comprehend. Dean could feel it in his bones. 

 

“And if he dies?” Sam cast a doubtful glance at the prone angel, already so pale and drawn.

 

Dean jerked a thumb towards the door, ordering Sam out ahead of him.”Then we know the angel’s disposable and no one is coming after him.” That, at least, was a small blessing. He doubted Castiel would lie about being a bottom-rung soldier. Every angel Dean had the displeasure of hearing had loved boasting of their position over lowly humans. None of them wanted to seem like the grunts.

 

Even with the lantern light, Dean felt a pervasive cold within as he sat for his shift, banishing his brother to the relative safety of the floors above. The memories of Castiel’s screams and sobs clung to the darkness, echoing in his memory every time he let his thoughts drift. They were at the tipping point, but as usual, Dean didn’t know if this time the scales would go their way.

Experience told him otherwise. 

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

 

Matthew 12:32

And whoever speaks a word against the Son of Man will be forgiven, but whoever speaks against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven, either in this age or in the age to come.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Castiel didn’t put up a fight the next time they came into the cell. They found him huddled under the mass of blankets, barely coherent and cool to the touch. His skin possessed a little more pink to it than the night before, so Dean figured that meant Castiel had some juice left in him to replenish some of the blood loss. The wing stumps were still tacky and raw, Dean wondered if they would ever heal.

 

They didn’t bother with chains. Benny hauled the limp angel into his arms, nose scrunching at the idea of playing packhorse to one of them, but it was easier than trying to balance Castiel between them. 

 

The ‘operating’ room felt colder than it had before. A valiant attempt at scrubbing the blood from the cement had been made, but the obvious dark spots left behind told the story of what they were doing. Somewhere along the way, the fiery resolve that burned in Dean’s chest had waned, and only the grim knowledge that he had sworn a duty to those around him kept him going. He wanted to end this. Plunge his dagger in Castiel’s heart and grant him the death the angel had begged so adamantly for. It would be a mercy to them all.

 

Castiel’s body shivered against the metal table, quivering as the chains were pulled over his naked skin. For the first time, Dean saw Jo divert her eyes, jaw tensed. Today felt different. Without his wings or sharp tongue, Castiel looked disturbingly human. Hell, one more pin out of him, and Dean figured he probably would be mortal soon enough.

 

They stood in a loose ring, unwilling to talk or smirk as Dean retrieved the pliers. The certainty that this would probably kill the creature hung in the air. The weight of their failures as sobering as the slow, torturous progression that had lead to this. The information gleaned from Castiel was minimal, certainly not worth the lives lost to attain it. Bitter loss crowed on their shoulders, haunting their dreams and chasing their waking thoughts. 

 

Dean inhaled and stepped forward, looking down at Castiel with hard eyes.”Any words, Blue?”  It was hard to call the monster by his name to his face, Dean didn’t feel like he deserved that. It made it too personal.

 

Castiel’s listless eyes fluttered open. His throat tensed like he might say something, but it stuck somewhere between his vocal cords and his lips. 

 

The cut to widen the wound around the final spike was made. Sam blanched seeing the deep scouring marks on the white of Castiel’s skull that had been made by the angel’s own hand. Dean struggled to dig the pliers deep enough and get the tips around the pin.

 

Castiel stirred faintly, eyes tilting back to watch Dean, even as the metal scraped the mess of his skull. Dean caught his gaze after a few seconds, green meeting blue, and time stilled.

 

A creeping smile tinged with exhaustion pulled at Castiel’s lips, “A righteous soul...lost. So radiant in dark times.” He murmured, looking beyond the cage of Dean’s body and further still. 

 

The words trickled down Dean’s spine in a cold sweat for reasons he couldn’t pinpoint. Castiel had looked at  _ him _ , his very essence, when saying that. It squirmed against his skin, an ill-fitting armor that he hadn’t earned. 

 

Gripping the pliers harder to still the quiver in his fingers, Dean pulled. The pin went clattering to the floor, an arch of yellowish brain fluid trailing after the tip. The yellow fluid quickly turned crimson in the seconds after the removal, and for a delirious moment, Dean actually thought they were in the clear when Castiel didn’t immediately react. 

 

It started in a wave. A gasp tightened in Castiel’s chest, the angel’s eyes fluttering. His body strained against the chains, arching as high as they allowed before thumping back down again. His heels knocked rapid-fire pulses, and the tremors worked their way up until his whole body buzzed with the intensity of a wasp’s nest. A hard jerk tore him out of the jittery quaking, right fist slamming hard up against the chain. 

 

“No way he lives through this.” Jo backed against the wall, watching with a strained gaze as Castiel’s body fought the binding with strangled breaths.

 

Benny’s face pinched at the next thump of Castiel’s body, “We should kill him, this is...this ain’t right.”

 

“He made it through the other ones.” Sam insisted the conversation from the night before eating away at him.

 

“Would you all — ” Dean snapped, and the sound of Castiel’s head slamming violently back against the metal silence him. After the abrupt bang, the angel’s body stilled, head nestled in the dent made by his skull.  

 

“...Is he?”

 

Sam moved first, creeping up to loom over what they all figured was now a corpse. His hands quivered when they felt out a pulse, desperate to feel it under the frantic rhythm of his own. “I think so. Fuck, I can barely feel it.” 

 

Dean bobbed his head, dropping the pliers to the floor in favor of grasping onto the one thing that could ground him in all this. Order. “Get him untied. Get Max, this fucker has all the headgear out, we’re not losing him before we can interrogate him again.” They’d come to damn far for Castiel to give up the ghost so easily.

 

“We can’t put him back in the cell, that’d kill him faster than anything else.” Sam insisted, fumbling to undo locks while Jo started pulling the lengths of metal from Castiel’s body.

 

Shit, Sam was right about that. Castiel had been near hypothermic before. “Yeah...The room next to ours is open,” Unfortunately, because of the  _ thing _ lying unconscious before them, “Put him in there, that way I can keep my damn eye on him.” Benny looked ready to argue the wisdom of putting a creature like Castiel right next to Dean and Sam's bedroom, but Dean wasn’t in the mood for arguing. 

 

“We get one chance at this, remember. The angel lives or else this has been useless. Now  _ move _ .” The growl in his voice was enough to shake the remaining frost from their veins, and the small unit poured into their tasks, eager for the distraction. 

  
  
  


* * *

 

 

Days crawled by, and every day Dean was sure the angel would bite it. Only he and Sam had access to the key to unlock the door beside their own where Castiel was kept, and every few hours they’d lean in. If not for the barely-there rise and fall of Castiel’s chest, Dean would have written him off as dead days ago. His skin was sallow and drawn, breath a rattle. Occasionally they had to change the bedding from the dull ooze dripping from Castiel’s wing stumps, but those at least looked to be closing, albeit sluggishly. 

 

On the seventh day, Dean returned from his rotation and chanced looking in, barely glancing. The desire to strip off his grimy layers and pass out in his own cot almost made him negligent. He’d already started to close the door when a blaring alarm in the back of his mind told him something was amiss. He leaned in further, startling to find the angel not only awake but huddled in a corner of the room as far away from the door as possible. 

 

“Shit,” Dean pawed at his holster for his spelled knife as he eased into the room, eyeing his prisoner like he expected Castiel to strike out as he had before, week-long coma or not. He didn’t know how much grace the angel still had knocking around in there.

 

He stepped closer and Castiel’s breath stuttered. Castiel’s hands were tentatively tracing the healing scabs on his forehead, murmuring low Enochian from a throat that sounded dry and cracked. 

 

Castiel stilled at Dean’s approach, drawing in on himself as if he might disappear if he concentrated on it hard enough. “If...you’ve come to finish it, do so quickly. Better I die by that blade than be fuel.” 

 

Dean paused, glancing at the blade in his hand. Guess that answered if the newest spell Max worked into the blade with Castiel’s blood carried the punch they were hoping for. 

 

“You sane now?” Dean smirked, leaning against the wall to keep his distance, but close enough where he didn’t have to strain to hear Castiel’s hoarse voice.

 

A harsh huff that bordered on laughter punched from Castiel’s chest, “That is debatable, considering my brain now resembles swiss-cheese.” He sneered, a hard shiver spasming up his spine afterward.

 

Dean smirked, “Care to elaborate on  _ why _ you were rocking knitting needles in your skull?”

 

Castiel turned to look at Dean, weary eyes squinting as he tried to puzzle out Dean’s peculiar word choice into something recognizable. “Training.” He answered, trying for tersely but it came out with a weak cough that ended in him doubling over gasping for air.

 

“Fuck.” If Dean was going to get anything out of Castiel he needed to keep him talking. He retreated from the room momentarily to dash to his own and retrieve one of his stored canteens. 

 

“Drink.” Dean thrust it at Castiel once he returned, loathe to be this close to the fallen angel after having to pull pins out of his goddamn skull three days in a row. 

 

Castiel snatched the bottle and gulped the acrid water down greedily, not even bothering to thumb away the dribble his haste made down his chin. “Th-thirst...it is new.” He whispered, staring down at the empty container. “It is all new.” 

 

Dean could see Castiel zoning out before his eyes, “Hey! Focus. What the hell do you mean ‘training’.” 

 

Silence elapsed as Castiel stared at the canteen, pale tongue peeking out to moisten his dry, cracked lips. Finally, he looked up. “There are so many, many things you don’t know, Human.” Dean was used to ‘Blue’ addressing them as heathens, sinners, and humans, but the way Castiel said it now lacked the judgemental bite.

 

“Oh yeah? Enlighten me then.” Dean ground out. He didn’t like being holed up in a room alone with Castiel, not when he’d been hard-wired for fight or flight when it came to this creature’s kind.

 

Castiel sighed out the weight of the world, leaning heavily against the wall. His body faintly shivered his nudity in the cool cement room no doubt the cause. Bare as he was, Dean could see the bruising that mottled Castiel’s skin, an ugly impressionism of the abuse suffered over the past two weeks. 

 

“If I am recovered now that you have — ” Castiel’s voice wavered momentarily, “ taken my wings, I will no doubt be used as fuel for Uriel.” He drew into himself, voice detaching from his noticeable discomfort. It was a soldier’s practice, something Dean was intimately familiar with after John’s training. “Stronger angels cannibalize the weak just as they do humans.”

 

“Like you fucking ate Lucky?” It tore from Dean before he could think better of it. He needed to remain objective here if he wanted information, but his nerves were paper thin already. 

 

“Yes.” The answer was brittle.

 

Dean scowled and stomped over to the bed to tug the tattered blanket from it and toss it at Castiel’s direction. Seeing the  _ thing _ shiver like a chihuahua while admitting to eating someone’s soul was troubling on more levels than Dean had the energy to process. 

 

Castiel caught the blanket with the barest of frowns. It took him nearly a minute to realize the blanket was for him, and he shrugged it around his body with a feeble awkwardness born of the unsettling realization that he was  _ cold _ . He flinched when the cloth dragged against the bony protrusions on his back.

 

“Doesn’t answer what I asked before. The training.” Dean forged ahead, sitting on the end of the bed with his knife still gripped in his right hand.

 

Blanketed, Castiel looked disturbingly human. He could be just another victim of the apocalypse like this, battered, bruised and alone. “I doubt you will accept this, but not all of my brethren wanted  _ this _ to come to pass.” He reached to touch the puffy wound near his right temple. “At first the ones that disagreed the loudest were interned. They resurfaced later, speaking of ‘the cause’. Of our Father’s plan. We thought it a product of simple re-education but…” His hand quivered, and for a moment Castiel’s body went rigid and stiff. As quickly as the spasm came on, it faded, and Castiel struggled to pick up the dropped sentence.

 

“But?”

 

“Many members of my choir went missing. It wasn’t until someone I trust came to me, assuring me he would protect me because I had always served him well.” Cracks began to form in Castiel’s stoic explanation, “I was naive, and betrayed.” His shoulders slouched, eyes drifting closed as shadows of the past played out in his mind’s eye.

 

“Ishim- Ishim took me to Naomi for re-education, but it was more than that.” His hands began to tremble, palms pressing to his forehead with a low groan. “It went on for decades,  _ centuries,  _ but in the end, I broke. I became the  _ creature _ of their purpose. I had thought the choice between that and death the favorable outcome, but I was wrong.” He swallowed thickly, “I would choose to die a thousand deaths than what Naomi has done to us.”

 

Before Dean could try and puzzle out what the hell Castiel had just said, Castiel pitched over with a ragged breath.

 

“I saw the birth of it all! The first creature to breath air, the first word of man.” Castiel groaned, nails scraping over his prickly scalp. “Century after century I have served with my brothers and sisters, praising God’s creation. Bathing in his light. I-I have seen you all, the rise and fall of nations, the — ” His voice broke with a ragged sob, “Th-the bees on sunflowers…” Whatever uttered words were lost as Castiel lost himself to his grief, pulling the blanket tight around his broad shoulders as if that would stave off the ghosts of the past.

 

“What have I done…?” Castiel moaned, curling in on himself until Dean was sure Castiel had forgotten he was there entirely. 

 

Dean wavered. He had been prepared for many things, but he hadn’t expected the ‘angel’ to break down again. He’d figured the last time was a byproduct of still having a needle in his head, but perhaps more of Castiel had been present that night than Dean or Sam had realized.

 

Castiel had told a tall tale, and Dean didn’t know what to make of it. It felt awfully convenient to shrug the blame off on ‘I was controlled’, but Dean didn’t think a creature that could choke down one human soul after another could look so...broken. Castiel’s moods and reactions were a rollercoaster that left Dean dizzy and off-kilter for hours after seeing him. He needed Sam.


	10. Chapter 10

Matthew 12:32

And whoever speaks a word against the Son of Man will be forgiven, but whoever speaks against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven, either in this age or in the age to come.

 

* * *

 

Calling a group meeting might not have been the brightest of Dean’s ideas. It sounded reasonable at first. It would quell the lingering doubts people had in his leadership after capturing Castiel, and then everyone could see first-hand and judge for themselves the validity of what the fallen angel was saying.

 

He just hadn’t counted on everyone devolving into a rabble so quickly.

 

“I think he’s fucking faking.” Ruby sneered, banished to the edge of the room as far away from Castiel as they could put her. 

 

“I don’t know...sounds pretty honest to me.” Garth piped up, closer to the core group than anyone else. Dean wasn’t used to thinking of the guy as a pillar around here, but he’d admit Garth’s quiet optimism and soothing nature was a blessing right now. His presence took some of the bite out of the other’s call for blood. 

 

Dean sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face as he shifted on his heels. He took position behind Castiel’s seat, relegated to the position of  _ protecting _ the goddamn murderer just in case someone decided to play vigilante and take Castiel out now that he was basically mortal. 

 

Castiel had stayed silent outside of answering any question posed to him. His voice was flat and tired, and he didn’t look much better than he had last night. Frankly, Dean didn’t know how he was sitting up. A little water and food had perked him up a little, but Castiel looked like he was running on empty. 

 

“I can hit him with a truth spell.” Max offered with a yawn that was out of place in the high-strung room. The witch had already deemed Castiel little threat now that he barely had any grace left. Max was busying himself rubbing some sort of foul-smelling concoction on a hastily crafted metal collar, one that could supposedly keep Castiel exactly where Dean wanted once the spell weaving was completed. 

 

“He’s an angel! What’s a truth spell going to do? Why can’t we kill him?” Ruby snapped, daring to take a small step forward.

 

Sam, for once, was the one to fix her with a warning glare. “Look at him, he’s barely anything. He can barely keep his eyes open.” Sam grumbled, the dark circles under his own eyes more prominent than usual. This was around the time when he’d usually take his next hit, but for some reason, he hadn’t. Not that Dean was complaining. Maybe he could get Sam to finally ice the bitch now. 

 

A frizzy-haired woman shifted from her perch on one of the tables, “But if it’s telling the truth...What if there are  _ good _ angels out there?” Her voice shook, unconsciously palming the cross she still wore on a worn leather cord. Dean hated seeing that necklace, but Sam said she justed wanted hope. Dean didn’t have much use for hope anymore.

 

“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything.” Dean insisted with a scowl, ”If there  _ are _ angels being controlled, then they’re still enemies as long as that head-gear is in there. They’ll kill you all the same. Don’t forget what this one did.” The reminder drew a visible flinch from the angel seated in front of him. 

 

Sam shifted in his chair, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his aching joints.”Can you tell us anything else?” He directed towards Castiel, keeping his voice pitched low and calm. 

 

Castiel blinked hard, wavering slightly in his seat as if he was just remembering he was located in the middle of a room of humans that wanted to see him strung up. “No,” A few people opened their mouths to shout, but Dean’s quick bark bid them silent. “I...don’t recall much,” Castiel admitted, eyes unfocused and dazed. Dean had seen similar looks on those recovering from severe concussions. “There are patches. Centuries missing.” He hazarded bringing a hand to his forehead, but even briefly touching the scabs on his head made him flinch back with a hiss. 

 

“What are we going to do with a goddamn angel that has brain damage?” Jo glowered, scowling dourly at Castiel as she’d been doing for the past hour. 

 

That was the crux of the problem. What were they going to do with Castiel? If his mind was in tatters then he wasn’t useful for information, but killing him felt like a waste for some reason. Dean refused to believe that they were only getting this pathetic bit of information from the angel and calling it quits. 

 

“Put him on lockdown, see if he remembers anything else. If anything getting him spelled means he’s ours to use now.” Dean smirked, ignoring the faint slime the sentence left on his tongue. It wasn’t anymore callous than anything else in the apocalypse, but it  _ felt _ vile. 

 

Sam’s eyes turned to him with an expression that further soured Dean’s stomach. He wasn’t the only one that had thought what he said was low either. If Castiel was telling the truth, if he was really one of the ‘good ones’, then he’d landed in one form of slavery to another. 

 

A quiet mewl at their feet curled Dean’s nose. “Goddamn Garth, keep your cat put up.” He grumbled, watching as the hideous three-legged cat weaved under the table. 

 

“You can’t keep Mr Fizzles locked up all day Dean, it’s inhumane,” Garth pouted. He bent to try and coax the ancient cat to him, not that Mr. Fizzles listened.

 

The grey tomcat sniffed impudently in Garth’s direction and made a bold leap into Castiel’s lap, nails digging into the ex-angel’s thighs before Mr. Fizzles plopped his ass down without care or concern. The bastard even had the nerve to purr.

 

Castiel stared down at the mass of patchy, scruffy fur in his lap as if expecting it to explode. Timidly his hand raised, pressing to Mr. Fizzle’s bony back in small, careful slides. Mr. Fizzles purred like a freight train, shoving his head against Castiel’s forearm with an ugly but thankful mewl that flashed all of its remaining five teeth. 

 

From across the table, Max smirked, standing.”Cat seal of approval, I guess.” He chuckled, side-eyeing Ruby. The cat wouldn’t get within ten feet of the demon. 

 

“Stretch that neck beautiful,” The witch walked up near Dean as he eyed Castiel, grasping the spelled collar. “Seal it with blood, and he’s yours,” Max said towards Dean as he locked the uncomfortable collar around Castiel’s neck with a click. 

 

“Everything’s blood with magic.” Dean was pointedly ignoring Sam’s hard eyes as he pricked his thumb on one of his many knives and shoved the digit against the metal collar. A flare of purple magic ignited on the collar, and Mr. Fizzles gave a displeased hiss and darted away.

 

Castiel frowned, watching the cat skitter off with something akin to regret. His empty hand trailed up to touch against the collar, frown deepening. It wasn’t as painful as the spikes, but he had enough mental capacity left to understand what was happening to him.

 

“Step anywhere near the exits and this thing will make you wish you were dead.” Max shrugged and turned back to Dean, “Simple spell to find where he is, you’ll be able to feel it, and you should have low-level compulsion. Nothing major, but enough with the ingredients we had. Still, I’d watch it. He’s running on empty, but there’s still something left at the bottom of the barrel. Enough to kill.” The witch glanced at the angel once more, wistful. “I could maybe extract it though…”

 

“We’ll see. For now, we need his head healed, and I doubt a human could survive that.” Dean sidestepped Max to jerk his thumb towards the door  “Let’s go.” He bid Castiel stand, eyeing the room for any more rabble-rousers. Most looked contented with the collar in place, but he still felt Ruby’s hard eyes staring at him from across the room. He was going to have to keep shadows on Castiel if they wanted to make sure he lived to tell any more secrets. 

* * *

 

  
  
  


Days crawled past, sluggish with their heft. Everyone waited. Dean knew the other shoe had to drop. Castiel couldn’t be this  _ person _ he was pretending to be. Any moment Dean expected him to rear up and strikeout. 

 

More often than not it was Dean that trailed after Castiel as the ex-angel meandered around the base. Moving around seemed to help Castiel come back to himself. Lucidity was sporadic, as was the man’s fine motor control. More than once Dean had to reach out and grasp Castiel’s arm to keep him from toppling down a flight of stairs. 

 

One night Dean and Sam were roused from their slumber by screaming. The dreams that raged in Castiel’s slumber rivaled Dean’s own. Castiel thrashed and cursed at an unseen assailant, snarling out his defiance. More than once he’d drawn blood back-handing Dean or Sam as they tried to rouse him.

 

Everytime he woke, he took in his surroundings, wild fear chasing away the brilliant blue of his eyes; and yet, a calm would take over him as soon as he realized he was underground. He acted as if being collared and captive in a human base was better than the plague of his dreams, and as time went by, Dean started to believe it was.

 

“I don’t understand, Why would humans ingest this?”  Castiel stared down at the off-grey sludge in his bowl. They’d discovered a cache of oats in storage at a crumbling homestead miles away in the hills. A farmer, Dean figured. The storehouse had been serviceable, and while some of what was foraged were only usable for fuel or compost, the oats had been a blessing.

 

Dean rolled his eyes and shoveled another spoonful into his mouth. They didn’t taste great without all the fixin’s, but a full stomach was a full stomach. “Well before your kind fucked the earth, people put bananas and fruit and junk in it. Peanut butter was the best though.” 

 

The first few days Dean had doggedly ignored Castiel’s presence despite being right behind him. He didn’t  _ want _ to interact with Castiel’s kind. Somewhere around Castiel’s obsession with Mr Fizzles, and his quiet marveling at Kevin conversing with him in his language, Dean had lost his will. Castiel wasn’t the best conversationalist, but he was fascinating in what he did and didn’t know.

 

“Peanut butter?” Castiel poked his spoon into his ‘oatmeal’, nose scrunching as he poured the contents of his spoon back into his bowl. It was like watching a four-year-old play with his food, expect that Castiel was as old as the dawn of goddamn time.

 

Dean sighed, pressing the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb.”Seriously? What did you do before your brain got rearranged?” Castiel’s faint glare meant jackshit to Dean at this point. Subtly had died with half the planet as far as Dean was concerned.

 

“I —  “ Castiel’s brow furrowed. Absently, he scratched over his scalp, the growing strands of dark brown hair vaguely itching. The pause in his speech put Dean on alert, “I think I — ” It happened about the time Dean thought it would. 

 

Castiel’s face went slack, and his spoon clattered to the table. Dean was already on his feet to reach out and steady Castiel, but luckily this wasn’t a seizure or one of the occurrences where Castiel went limp. Instead, he just stared, eyes unfocused and empty. 

 

Dean sat back down, eyeing Castiel for anymore sign that he might tip over, but none came. It was a longer ‘spacing out’ than usual, lasting nearly five minutes before Castiel came back to himself with a gasp.

 

“-was a soldier.” Castiel continued talking, not at all aware time had passed. Only his spoon being on the table instead of in his hand keyed him into the lapse. 

 

“Did I?” He asked, and his face pinched at Dean’s small grunted, “Yeah.”

 

Dean tugged his eyes away from Castiel to his bowl. The dismay and loss that came over Castiel’s face when he realized he had lost time made Dean deeply uncomfortable. It wasn’t just those moments, but any ‘fit’ that reminded Castiel of what he’d faced. Dean didn’t know if he fully believed Castiel yet, but he did know that someone had done something that was messed the hell up in order to scramble a man’s brain that badly. 

 

Castiel looked down at his food, barely touched. “I...apologize for the waste, but I don’t think I will be able to finish. I wish to go find Mr Fizzles instead.” Hearing a man that once spat bible verses like venom say ‘Mr. Fizzles’ should have been hilarious, but it only made Dean’s discomfort grow.

 

“Always someone around here that will eat it. No such thing as waste.” Dean shrugged, taking the bowl from Castiel and wordlessly sliding it towards the center of the table. Someone would eat it eventually. 

 

Castiel waited until Dean finished eating before he made an attempt to stand, and only when it looked like Dean would follow after without comment did he start out of the Mess.

 

Ruby rounded the corner, hand snatching out to grip the threadbare shoulder of Castiel’s top. “Watch it, Pigeon,” she hissed as if she wasn’t the one walking into doorways like she owned them.

 

Castiel’s eyes hardened, “Unhand me. Snake.” It was the first time Dean had heard Castiel’s voice drop to the deep basal growl he was used to out of ‘Blue’. 

 

“Oh? What do you think you can do to me?” Ruby cackled, index finger tapping against Castiel’s shoulder. The bone protrusions of Castiel’s stumps raised the back of his shirt, a stark reminder of the price he’d paid to be free of his supposed mind control.

 

Castiel’s cheeks flushed, though whether it was from rage or shame Dean didn’t know. 

 

“Ruby,” Dean growled a warning, hand resting against his multi-purpose pig-sticker. 

 

The demon stayed staring a heartbeat too long for Dean’s liking, but eventually, Ruby’s hand loosened and Castiel wrenched himself of her grip. 

 

“People around here might forget you’re not just a neutered dog, but I haven’t. I’m going to look forward to them finally mining all they can from your cranium. Then maybe I’ll get to put you down, proper.” She smirked, black eyes swiveling towards Dean, “Enjoy your pet,  _ Boss _ .” 

 

Dean’s jaw flexed as Ruby brushed by. The itch to stick her right in the back where she deserved it was great. “Bitch,” he rumbled, starting a small sound that was nearly a chuckle from the only other person in the hall.

 

His surprise must’ve shown as Castiel swallowed the huff of air as quickly as it bubbled up and turned to resume his search for his ugly, three-legged best friend. 

 

* * *

 

Today was a bad day. Dean had known it looking at Castiel five minutes after he was released from his room for the day. Castiel’s eyes were dim, shadows clinging to his puffy under-eyes so deeply it looked as if he’d been struck. It was barely a few hours past sunup and Castiel’s right hand trembled with a sporadic twitch that left him largely unable to use it at breakfast.

 

Not that Castiel ate much to start with.

 

Even Mr. Fizzle’s presence did little to rouse Castiel from the morose silence he’d sustained all day. 

 

It wasn’t like Dean cared. Not  _ really _ ...Castiel being sick or quiet just meant he couldn’t get any more tidbits that Dean had been ferreting away from their conversations, however small. 

 

“What’s wrong with him?” Sam asked over dinner, looking barely better than Castiel himself. Sam hadn’t been sleeping very well the past week either. Dean would know. 

 

“Beats me. Regularly chatty Cathy yesterday. Wouldn’t shut the hell up about ants, and for fucks-sake, never mention bees.” Dean tore into a chunk of stale, grainy bread with a shrug. 

 

A small knowing smirk curled Sam’s lips. If he didn’t know any better, he’d start to think Dean actually  _ liked _ talking to Castiel. It hadn’t escaped him that Dean had been moodier than usual all day, growling at anyone that so much as side-glanced Castiel. It was hard not to fall into Castiel’s gravity. He wasn’t at all what anyone expected. 

 

Castiel shuffled back into his room once Dean demanded he stopped poking at his dinner. It was there that Dean lingered, frowning lightly as Castiel stood in the center of the small room, staring at nothing but looking like he expected divination. 

 

“What gives, Castiel?”

 

Castiel’s right wing bone twitched, the barest hint of an acknowledgment. 

 

Minutes crept by, and right about the time Dean was going to cut his losses, Castiel exhaled. “I wonder if my brother lives. What became of him.”

 

“Aren’t all angels technically brother and sister or whatever?” Dean had never been really sure if they meant in a biblical sense or literal.

 

“Technically, but some are closer than others.” Castiel’s shoulders slouched, “There were few, but they were beloved to me. I fear for what became of them.”

 

Hearing Castiel speak of ‘family’ churned Dean’s insides. It was too easy for him to imagine being separated from Sammy in discussions like these. He’d spent so much of his adult life making sure he and Sam didn’t get parted that the sheer idea left a creeping dread prickling down Dean’s spine. 

 

“In the cell, before, you said...Balthazar, Gabriel, and a sister?” Recalling that day when he had shorn off Castiel’s wings instilled a sensation too close to regret for Dean to acknowledge. 

 

“Anna.” Castiel’s reply was thin, quivering. “I recall now, in the fog of control. Anna perished some years ago.” He’d known that fact long ago, but it hadn’t drifted to the forefront of his mind until now. He hadn’t been allowed to process it,  _ acknowledge _ it. 

 

“And the others?”

 

“Nothing is surfacing for Bal, perhaps that is good.” Castiel sighed, “As for Gabriel, he is an Arch An — ” Dean was diving before Castiel’s legs ever buckled. He was growing to recognize the signs in Castiel before they ever fully came to pass, which was the only thing that saved Castiel from cracking his head on his bed frame on the way down. 

 

As soon as Castiel was down Dean scooted back. An older woman that was a nurse in a life long past had given him brief instructions on the do’s and don’ts, and he knew enough not to hold Castiel down when a seizure hit. He tried not to think about all the times Castiel had been chained down in this same situation by his own hand. 

 

It had been easier to torture Castiel when he hadn’t seemed like a goddamn person. 

 

By the time Castiel groaned and moved weakly on the floor, a water bottle was placed near his head. “Slow down, you’ll barf, and I’m getting sick and tired of cleaning up your puke dude,” Dean grumbled, reaching to uncap the bottle. 

 

Castiel blinked bleary eyes, staring at Dean in new clarity. “I-it would have been you...if we could have stayed our path.” He muttered, barely able to grasp the bottle in his hands as Dean wiggled closer to try and help get the water to Castiel’s lips. 

 

“What?” Sometimes Castiel muttered things after these episodes, but he’d never done it with such conviction before.

 

“You. A Righteous man. You could have saved us all if they had kept the Faith.” Castiel reached, trailing rough fingertips against Dean’s cheek with a reverence that bloomed gooseflesh across Dean’s body. 

 

Dean swallowed thickly, setting the water aside. “Let’s...it’s time for bed.” Castiel was obviously delirious, and sleep sounded like a good idea all around. 

 

Not for the first time, Castiel needed his help crawling into bed. He fell listlessly on top of the thin blanket, crumpling against the pillow as if his bones were stone. “And lo, the righteous shall inherit the earth, and dwell therein,” he whispered as his head pressed into the pillow, the lines of his face smoothing as he was plunged immediately into the depths of exhausted sleep. 

 

Dean lingered, staring down at the prone man lying curled in on himself. If not for the bones raising the back of Castiel’s shirt, Dean would have thought him like any other mortal. Aside from the bible verses and the lofty lectures about insects, Castiel was like anyone else. Apparently, he was a cat person, disliked oatmeal, and had no appreciation for half the jokes Dean made.

 

And he was also a murderer that had killed more than Dean could scarcely comprehend. Did it matter if Castiel was conscious of it? It was still him. His body. The blood was still on his hands.

Dean had seen the same hand that curled loosely against the bedsheets plunge through his father’s chest, spraying blood and tissue alike. The memory of the shock on John’s face would forever be etched in Dean’s waking nightmares, the hot coppery steam of blood clinging to his nostrils. 

 

His hand twitched towards the knife at his belt, and Castiel shifted slightly on the bed, lips falling open in a pained hitch as his wing bones scraped against the wall with the movement. 

 

Dean sighed, head bowing. Looking at Castiel now, Dean couldn’t feel the raw hatred he had before. Perhaps Castiel had suffered a greater fate than Dean’s own blade could have ever dealt him. Winged, collared, and alone. Castiel wasn’t even a shadow of what he’d been before, and perhaps that was punishment enough for now. 


	11. Chapter 11

 

Hebrews 9:26

For then he would have had to suffer repeatedly since the foundation of the world. But as it is, he has appeared once for all at the end of the ages to put away sin by the sacrifice of himself.

 

* * *

  
  
  


It had been a long fucking night. 

 

Sam retched into the bucket by his bedside, long past empty. Dean watched as his brother gagged and heaved into the rusted metal, his hand petting helplessly through the sweat-damp strands of Sam’s hair. 

 

Over the week Sam’s health went from shaky to feeble faster than anyone had ever expected. It felt like overnight Sam went from being able to complete his rounds with a bit of fatigue to now struggling even to get to the Mess. Well, he had eaten yesterday at least, Dean hadn’t managed to get anything to stick today. 

 

The door opened and Dean glanced up, hackles softening when he saw Castiel slink inside. “Here, I thought this might help.” Castiel offered a damp rag, face faintly strained. Seeing human sickness was jarring in a way he hadn’t expected. Humans wore suffering on their sleeves. 

 

“Th-thanks Castiel.” Sam managed, reaching to grasp the rag before Dean could lean over him and grab it. The younger Winchester pressed the cloth to his clammy forehead and dragged it down to clear away the bile clinging to his chapped lips. 

 

“Dean, Benny requests a word with you.” Castiel stayed close to the door, aware that Dean didn’t enjoy him in Sam’s space when he was so weak. It had been a show of trust for Dean to even allow Castiel down the hallway to fetch the cloth. 

 

Dean’s brow furrowed. What the hell was Benny thinking calling him away when Sam was so sick? Dean was all too aware that despite his brother’s decline he was still in charge of this clusterfuck, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not right now. 

 

Castiel’s eyes darted to Sam momentarily, “Benny made mention of a veterinarian’s office from a past visit?” He continued, trying to be covert but failing. 

 

Dean’s eyes widened. That’s right. There was still a shit ton of bottles littered around there. Everything had probably expired, but there had to be a small chance that  _ something _ was still salvageable that could help Sammy.  He’d run it by the resident nurse and see if she could ballpark a drug that might get them somewhere.

 

His eyes trailed back to Sam, face pinching as he watched the effort it took his brother to sit back upright. 

 

“It’s okay Dean, go if you need to. I’m okay. I think it’s passed.” Dean didn’t believe Sam for one goddamn minute, but he knew he needed to leave anyway. If there was even a chance that he could find something to ease Sam’s pain, Dean would take it. 

 

“I can stay with him.” Castiel looked like he was even shocked to hear himself say that. He blinked, the remains of his wings rustling weakly in what would have been a nervous puff had he still possessed feathers. 

 

Despite the situation, Sam wheezed a quiet chuckle. “Mom always said we had an angel watching over us.” He cast fever-weak eyes at Dean and gently nudged him from the bed. “Go on Dean, I’ll be fine. I’m just going to sleep.”

 

Dean didn’t like it one bit, but honestly, this was the best option. Castiel needed to be watched, and the list of people Dean trusted to do that was slim. He also didn’t want Ruby getting to Sam, and having the ex-angel around was a good incentive for a demon to be scarce. Castiel still had a bare hint of grace left, and while the collar kept Castiel bound relatively well, Dean doubted Max’s magic could suppress grace if hard-pressed. 

 

Sighing, Dean rose from the bed, taking a moment to hand the puke-bucket off to Castiel with a small smirk. “Fine, you play nurse and you make damn sure Ruby doesn’t step foot into this room. Hear me?” He pinned Castiel with a warning glare as he retrieved his favored dagger from his bedside.

 

Castiel’s expression soured, “I’ve killed more demons than you can conceive of, human. I’m capable of playing nursemaid and defending a stronghold against one lowly bitch.” His voice rumbled, a little of his indignance softened by the fact that he was holding the remains of Sam’s breakfast. 

 

“Well, least we agree on the bitch part.” Dean smirked, clapping Sam’s shoulder gently, “Get some sleep.” He waited until Sam rolled his eyes and laid down, his long body curling in on itself underneath the threadbare blanket. 

 

Dean paused by the door, leaning into Castiel’s space. “If you do anything to hurt my baby brother, so help me, I will make plucking your wings feel like a goddamn shiatsu massage.” Usually, Dean didn’t like to refer to Castiel’s torture anymore, but in this case, Dean wanted to leave a stark reminder what he was capable of.

 

Castiel watched him, eons in his eyes. His face was carefully schooled, but Dean saw the flicker of anger in those depths. Outrage from his disgrace. “No harm will come to him, I owe him a debt.” He growled in reply, facing off with Dean with a level glare. 

 

Dean held the gaze a heartbeat more, “Good.” He turned and strode down the hall, trying to ignore the peculiar buzzing staring into Castiel’s eyes always left in his stomach. He’d accidentally touched a live-wire to low-level electric cords more times in his life than he could count, and that was the only comparison he could come up with to how Castiel felt. Even without his grace, Castiel was a world apart. 

 

* * *

 

 

Getting outside the compound for the first time in two weeks almost felt good, if not for the looming urgency behind their mission. 

 

“How’s he doin’?” Benny asked as they jogged down the path, sharp eyes constantly on the move for signs of danger.

 

Dean never managed the fluidity Benny had, less a panther on the prowl, and more of a junkyard bruiser. “Fever is burning him up pretty good, can’t keep anything down. He’s bad Benny.” His throat burned even admitting it.

 

Benny hummed low, “We’ll find something.” He assured in a confidence Dean wanted to feel at least half of, “Who’s watchin’ him?” He had little doubt Dean left someone there to ‘babysit’ his brother. No one with half a heart wanted Ruby to offer the kid a small top-off to get him out of the red. It always meant a steeper price later.

 

“Castiel, for fuck’s sake. Don’t know what I’m thinking.” Dean scowled, regret a bitter tang on his tongue. 

 

“Why? He hasn’t been doing anything shady has he?” 

 

A small snort punched from Dean’s chest, “Besides how much he loves that fugly cat, not really. Friggin’ weird man. I don’t know if those pins or whatever really did a job scrambling his brains or if he’s just a damn good actor. What if I go back and he’s — ” Dean couldn’t even speak it into existence. 

 

Benny smirked lightly, their jog slowing as they broke from the treeline into the open with careful steps.  “What if you go back and he’s got your little brother tucked in bed and read him a bedtime story?” He pointed out with a chuckle, not at all concerned with the glare Dean was aiming his way.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Weird guy or not, Castiel is an  _ angel _ remember? One of the things that’s been killing us left and right for a decade? Or did you forget?” 

 

Benny shrugged slightly, adjusting the strap of his backpack on his broad shoulders. “Vampires killed a lot of  _ your _ -” Benny didn’t let Dean lump the vampire in with humanity for a moment, “kind since the dawn of time. You never had a problem with me bein’ alone with Sam.”

 

Dean momentarily paused, looking at his long-time best friend incredulously. “Yeah, but you’re not just some mindless vamp!” Benny had fought beside him for years, and Dean had never seen him lose control on one of their own. Comparing Benny to Castiel was nuts!

 

“Tomae-to Tomah-to, Dean.” 

 

The rest of the scouting was spent in silence, the weight of Benny casual comparison not settling well on Dean’s already thin nerves. In theory, Benny was right. There could very well be perfectly sane angels. Castiel didn’t  _ seem _ like a bad guy now that he wasn’t stark raving mad, but that could just be him playing the long game. Benny admitted to doing some bad things in the past, things that would turn Dean’s stomach, but that hadn’t stopped their friendship - Hell, it hadn’t stopped Dean from getting on his knees for the vampire more times than he could count at this point. 

 

But applying the same blase attitude towards Castiel felt unimaginable. Especially when Dean had witnessed death at Castiel’s hands multiple times. It was too hard to disassociate ‘Blue’ from ‘Castiel’. 

 

“Dean?” Benny’s voice snapped him from his thoughts as they started into town.

 

“Sorry, I’m here. Let’s get this done.” 

 

Everything was where Lucky and he had left it last. Either the other scouting parties hadn’t come out this far, or they’d gone into other buildings. 

 

“Think there is a basement. We cleared out most of this shit when we hit it last, let’s see if there is anything useful down there.” Dean was trying to ignore the sense of foreboding that came with returning to this place. The night that Lucky’s soul was ripped out of him by Blue’s own hand still vivid in Dean’s memory. The animal hindbrain in him was screaming that this was a mistake, even though he knew Sam could very well depend on it. 

 

Benny took the lead, hefting open the stuck door with a guttural growl. The door snapped from its hinges and Benny tossed it aside, the darkness of the floor below ominous in the silence of the abandoned town. 

 

Dean took a hand-cranked flashlight from his bag and began winding it, not wanting to occupy Benny’s hands if they needed to fight. 

 

They descended into the cool innards of the old building, goosebumps rising on Dean’s arms. He hadn’t expected it to be this cold down here, but the basement looked to have been carved out of the bedrock. 

 

The basement was mainly for storage, though three large metal cages made up the wall of one side, presumably for dogs or other domestic pets too large to crate in the floors above. Dean frowned when he spotted the bones jumbled in the far in one corner. His heart clenched uncomfortably thinking about what it would feel like to be trapped in one of those cages, lonely, hungry, and thirst burning your throat. Days going by. Animals wouldn’t know what was going on, they’d just wonder why they were left behind. 

 

The sight of the bones was unsettling at least, and upsetting at worst, and he turned away to start rifling through the cabinets and boxes stacked in the large room. He needed to focus. 

 

Dean had a mental list of ‘maybes’ compiled in his head from the nurse’s advice, plucking each and every bottle that vaguely sounded like it was in the same family. She’d told him antibiotics that could still be halfway potent if stored well enough, and most of the drug bottles down here looked intact. The jammed door had been a blessing, most likely keeping errant passers-by and foraging animals from the treasure trove of expired pharmaceuticals. 

 

“Alright, got what we can. Let’s hit it.” Dean didn’t want to get caught with their pants down like he and Lucky had. They had plenty of daylight left, but he wasn’t leaving things to chance again. 

 

He should have realized by now that hope wasn’t something he had the luxury of entertaining anymore. 

 

They weren’t halfway over the open field before Benny shouted at him and shoved him violently to the side.

 

A gust of razor sharp air cut between them, and a flash of massive downy white wings darted by. Within a blink, a man appeared before them, broader and larger than even the vampire beside of Dean. The angel was imposing in ways Dean couldn’t describe. Where ‘Blue’ had been a picture of madness, this angel was openly expressive. Dark lips curled into a sneering smile as he turned to face them, wings kicking up dust as they folded to the expanse of his armor-clad back.

 

“The stink of you answers where Castiel ended up.” The angel smirked, making a show of sniffing the air with a disdainful scowl. “You reek of him.”

 

Recognition flared in Dean from a conversation with Castiel a few days past. Another seizure had rattled something loose, and Castiel described an angel he’d served next to. One that had once been under him, but had risen through the ranks by being as ruthless with his own kind as he was with demons. If anyone toed out of line, Uriel was quick to correct them.

  
  


“Uriel, right?” Dean savored the look of surprise on Uriel’s face. “Huh, Cas was right, you do look like a giant douche.” Rage bloomed over Uriel’s face, and Dean’s hand went for his knife. He should have brought Castiel’s angel blade with him, but he’d left it under Sam’s pillow as a just-in-case. 

 

Uriel’s wings stirred, stretching out to their full length, every pinion quivering. “You dare undo the work of the Mother?” His dark eyes burned with the fire of his grace, far brighter than what Castiel managed before. Uriel was freshly charged, Dean would bet gold on it. 

 

“Yeah, I’ve heard about this ‘Mother’ too, sounds like a real bitch to me.” Benny was eyeing him like he’d gone mad, but Dean had a method to his madness. Castiel told him that Uriel was a being quick to anger if you knew what button to push. If there was one thing Dean was confident about his personality, it was his ability to piss off anyone he put his mind to. 

 

“She play voodoo with your chrome-dome too? Or are you naturally an asshole?” Dean plastered on a cocky grin, grip tightening on his knife to give Benny a head’s up. 

 

Even expecting it, Uriel hit him like a freight train. A wing slammed into Dean before he could whip his blade around, sending him ass over teakettle a few times before he rolled to a stop in a graceless heap. 

 

Benny grasped Uriel’s other wing before the angel had a chance to divert his attention, whipping it around to toss Uriel back a few paces, wings working frantically to keep himself upright.

 

“Lost a few feathers, pigeon.” Benny chortled, tossing the torn white feathers from his hands with obvious revulsion. 

 

Uriel’s eyes trailed to the ragged end of his left wing, nose twitching before his lip peeled up from his pristine white teeth in a snarl. “You’ll regret laying a hand on your better, leech.”  

 

They’d gotten lucky with Castiel with an entire group, but trying to take out a fully-charged,  _ rational _ angel with just the two of them was suicidal. Dean knew it, Benny knew it, Uriel was counting on it. Their best bet was to abandon one another and hope the angel took issue with just one of them while the other escaped.

 

That wasn’t about to happen, but Uriel didn’t know that. 

 

“Dean, dammit get out of here! Sam needs the damn drugs!” Benny snapped, dragging himself up from the ground from another of Uriel’s punishing blows. Uriel was playing with them, breaking them one hit at a time until they were too shattered to get back up again. 

 

“Better listen to your pet, boy.” Uriel laughed, circling them as his wings shuddered with his delight. 

 

Dean swayed on his feet, thumbing the blood from his brow. Slowly, he bent to retrieve his bag from the ground. He eyed Benny once before lurching forward. His path would take him a few wide steps from Uriel’s current path, but he was counting on Uriel’s arrogance to go for Benny first. To the angel, a human running on foot was easy pickings. 

 

Benny sped forward in the same breath, colliding into an unsuspecting Uriel and locking his thick arms around the angel’s wings joints and pulling him into a crushing bear hug.

 

By the time Dean wheeled around to bury his spelled knife in the back of Uriel’s neck, the angel had already struck Benny’s prone back with a shout born of agony and fury.

 

Uriel’s grace burned from his eyes, sending a shock wave of energy that sent them sprawling. Uriel’s angel blade tore from Benny’s back as the angel crumpled to the ground, wings burning up into ash. 

 

Groaning, Dean laid staring up at the deceptively calm sky. Idly, he thought they should have walked faster across the field. Benny was already looking pretty pink from the trek there. He wouldn’t be able to be in the sunlight much longer without serious burns. They needed tree cover.

 

Somewhere to the left of him, Benny made a choked laugh.”S...Serves the fucker right.” The vampire’s voice sounded wrong to Dean’s jarred brain, spurring him to life once more. 

 

Dean rolled over onto his stomach to get his hands and knees under him. His body ached in ways he’d be paying for later, but the first glimpse of dark blood sinking into the barren earth banished the protests of his battered body. 

 

“Sh-shit man hold on!” Dean lurched to his feet, tripping in his hurry and sprawling beside Benny with a desperate hand flailing to grasp the man’s shirt.

 

Blood was soaking the ground at an alarming rate, and Dean was afraid of turning Benny over to see the extent of the damage. “Here, do it.” He sat close to the prone vampire, shoving his wrist against Benny’s paled lips. He’d only ever had to feed Benny through an injury once, and it wasn’t something Dean was too keen to be repeating, but it was better than letting his best friend die. 

 

Benny’s tongue licked out weakly, but something passed through his eyes, and Benny gently shook his head.”T..too late for that now, Cher.” Usually, Dean would cuff Benny for calling him that, but Dean would let it slide this once if Benny would stop being such an idiot. 

 

“The hell you talking about man? Drink!” Dean pressed insistently, grimacing as one of Benny’s blood-slick hands reached to push his wrist away. 

 

A shuddering sigh brushed wetly past Benny’s lips, “S’ok Dean...Getting...getting mighty tired anyway.” A weak smile spread as he reached to gently grasp Dean’s forearm. “Hunger ain’t...easy to keep down anymore. I don’t belong to start...fitting in with those monsters again. Wouldn’t do that to ya.” His eyes weakened with every word. 

 

Dean choked down a burst of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. It had been easy to fall into the trap that just because Benny was a vampire, it meant he’d never die. But angel blades weren’t his chintzy machete or a second-rate stake. They put down anything they skewered. 

 

“Don’t...Don’t do this to me man.” Dean protested fruitlessly, reaching to grasp Benny’s slipping hand. “H-hey, come on. Look at me. Look at me!” Benny’s eyes had gone remote the moment his hand went slack, but Dean kept on, his begging taking on new desperation the longer Benny went without blinking.

 

He’d seen so many people die. Every year the body count grew. He should be numb to it by now. Wanted to be numb. It would be so much easier to not feel each and every death like a punch to the gut. John’s had been a shock, mixed with more emotions than Dean could hope to sort out in this life or the next.

 

But Benny? Benny was nothing but pain. Vampire or not, the man had been Dean’s best friend since the moment he’d casually strolled into the woods around the compound and complimented them on the wards. His smiles were infectious, and he’d been the friend Dean had so desperately needed when he had so precious few. 

 

Dean’s hands locked around Benny’s shirt, balling up the fabric in his fists as a shout ripped from his throat. It was more noise than he needed to make, but he didn’t care. He screamed and raged until his voice was a weak croak and his pant legs were soaked in Benny’s blood. 

 

“Stupid... Mother fucker! Why did you…” Dean groaned, folding forward to press his forehead to Benny’s broad chest. He only let two tears fall against the navy fabric, the threat of a flood burning in his ducts. He’d already spent too much time out here. He needed to get back to Sammy. Needed to send a party out to retrieve Benny’s body before animals could drag it away. 

 

Numbly, he got to his feet. He shuffled towards Uriel’s body, scowling down at the burnt-out shell of a man that probably hadn’t been as much of an asshole as the angel had been. He bent to grasp the handle of his knife protruding from the back of Uriel’s neck, pausing before he could wrench it free.

 

* * *

 

  
  


Blood splattered on the floor as Uriel’s head rolled. Dean stood in the middle of the Mess, conscious of the shocked faces around him. Castiel was still at a table with Sam, and if Dean wasn’t already so angry, he would have taken issue with Sam being up and around right now. 

 

“...Dean?” Sam’s spoon stalled, only managing a clear broth made out of god knows what kind of bones. 

 

Castiel stood, slowly approaching the severed head. “Uriel.” The thin evening crowd eyed Castiel’s approach as he bent by the head, reaching out to roll it over until he could see Uriel’s greyed face. “You’ve managed to kill Uriel, Dean. He is- this is quite a victory.”

 

An ugly chuckled tore from Dean’s abused throat. “A victory? A  _ victory _ ? Benny is  _ dead _ .” He snarled, momentarily guilty as a sweep of gasps rocked through the room. 

 

Sam stood on shaky legs. He knew better than to question, but the disbelief was there. No one had wanted to believe the vampire could die like this. He was supposed to be immortal. With Sam down, and now Benny, their heavy hitters were dwindling rapidly. 

 

Dean swallowed, wiping Uriel’s blood on his jeans. “Need some volunteers to retrieve Benny’s body. Out past the tree line, mile out on the usual path.” He walked towards Sam, throwing his and Benny’s bloodied backpack on the tables.

 

“Get confirmation of what is what, there’s something in there that can help you. Take them, or else.” The air was heavy in the room as everyone watched him, waiting. Not even Sam dared to say anything aside from a quick ‘Okay’. For once, they would shut their traps, and for that, Dean was grateful.

 

He stalked from the room, stripping off his torn shirt as he went. There was a myriad of cuts and bruises on his chest and back, but he hardly felt them at this point. None of his minor injuries compared to the bleed-out within him. There was no kind of bandage or pill that could stem that but time.

 

Wiping himself down with tepid water usually brought about some measure of relief. None of them in the camp were ever really  _ clean _ , but they managed the best they could. Getting the blood and dirt off him made him feel a bit more human, but for once, that was a con instead of a pro. He didn’t want to feel anything right now, and the longer he stood scrubbing at his skin, the more the bile within grew. 

 

Anger churned with his grief, hot and heavy. It burned away at him, scorching him from the inside out. Nothing would alleviate it. Not the ‘bath’, not returning to the surface to wait for the retrieval party to venture out, and not watching them return more than two hours later. 

 

It was somewhere around twilight before the pressure came to a head. It needed to be tapped or else he would burst apart. 

 

Dean pushed open the heavy door to Castiel’s room too hard, and it banged loudly against a dented chair before it swung shut behind him. Castiel startled to his feet from the bed, though it didn’t look like he’d actually been  _ doing _ anything. The freak sat there and stared at the wall more often than not. 

 

“Dea — “

 

“Shut up, just shut your goddamn mouth.” Dean’s hands worked into fists, restless at his sides. “Someone else had to die because of your fucking kind, and I’m just supposed to...I have to fucking look at  _ you _ .” He wasn’t making any sense, he knew that, but it wouldn’t stop.

 

“Benny was fucking better than all of you. Vampire or not...He just dive-bombed Uriel so I could get away, you know that? He knew he’d get skewered good, but he still went for it so I could off your fucking pal out there.” Dean started stepping close to Cas, crowding his space. He wanted satisfaction. He wanted the angel to  _ know _ that Benny had been better than him or any of his kind ever was. 

 

Castiel took a measured breath, “I am aware that Benny meant a great deal to you, and it pains me to know he met his end to Uriel. Uriel was a sadist, Dean. He enjoyed what he did.” His eyes softened, too much empathy in his eyes for Dean to take. “I am sorry for your loss, Dean.”

 

The sincerity triggered the geyser, and Dean was rearing back before either of them was conscious of the abrupt shift. His fist connected solidly against Castiel’s cheek, popping his head back with a sharp gasp. Dean was hauling Castiel back against the wall before Castiel could recover, fisting his shirt until the collar tore.

 

“ _ You’re sorry _ ? Sorry? What the fuck good does that do me Castiel?” All the screaming he’d done before wouldn’t allow much more than a raised croak from him now, “ I should have killed you. Rammed your god-forsaken sword through your skull. Least then I wouldn’t know —  It was so much  _ easier _ before.”

 

“Angels, demons. It didn’t fucking matter. You were all scum. Monsters. And you want to tell me you’re a victim?” Dean sneered, shivering under the intensity of his rage. “You fucking killed my dad. And now your dick of a brother killed Benny. Your kind took everything from us! From me...Fucking...destroyed it.” His fists shoved up under Castiel’s chin, pressing into his stretched throat until the ex-angel began to wheeze.

 

Pain exploded against the side of Dean’s head, and for a mind-numbing moment, he feared that Castiel had retained more of his grace than he let on. Their positions were reversed at a dizzying speed as Castiel fluidly backhanded him, grabbed one of his wrists, and twisted. Dean staggered easily under the disarming bend of his arm, and Castiel stepped out to swipe a foot to Dean’s ankle. 

 

Dean grunted as he was slammed up against the wall with the momentum of his fall, bruising face pressed against the cement. 

 

“Listen to me you sniveling wretch. You think you know pain? Loss?” Castiel growled against his ear, his rough voice a tiger’s roar distilled with thunder. 

 

Castiel hauled him around, shoving his right forearm up under Dean’s throat as he pinned him in the spotlight of his too-blue eyes. “I watched your people rise from the mud. I watched you learn. Create. I’ve watched civilizations rise and fall.  _ Miracles _ . I loved humanity. I was created to love humanity.” Dean gripped at his arm the best he could, but Castiel was stronger than he was, be it from his rage or lingering heritage, Dean didn’t know.

 

“God told us that humans were his children. His best creation. To love them and cherish them. I didn’t care for my brother’s and sister’s grumbling. It didn’t matter that  _ we _ were his children first. Humanity’s possibilities were limitless.” 

 

Millenia old pain darkened across Castiel’s eyes, “And then our father left us. Abandoned us to other worlds he created.” His breath fluttered, pale pink tongue peeking past his dry lips. “Do you understand what it is like to feel the light of God leave you?... How could you? How could you know that loss? To feel as if you’ll never be warm again? To be  _ forsaken _ !” 

 

“What little there is of my grace cries for my father’s touch. I’ve watched his most beloved creation turn to ash. My very mind has been ripped in two to murder and consume the souls I swore to cherish. You are not the only one to lose all, Dean Winchester. I wish for the same death you throw yourself at every day. But there is no rest for us there, not while God has abandoned us.” 

 

Dean was frozen in the halos of Castiel’s watery eyes. His own gleamed, blinking silent tears down the feathers of his long lashes. Castiel’s arm loosened on his throat until he could slump into a shuddered breath.

 

There was nothing to say now. Dean wasn’t the only one bleeding out before their eyes, and the swamp of their grief was paralyzing.

 

The longer they stared the more Dean resigned himself to idiocy. Yelling hadn’t worked. Punching Castiel hadn’t worked. He was out of options.

 

He surged forward, pulling Castiel into a startled kiss. Castiel froze, wide-eyed as Dean’s lips slid against his, making up for the petrified shock that rooted Castiel to the floor. 

 

The drag of Dean’s teeth against Castiel’s lower lip melted the surprise, and Castiel shuttered under the shock of sensation. Dean gripped at Castiel’s shoulders, crowding him a little against the wall. All the while he worked his lips desperately against Cas’ until finally, the man parted his lips to Dean’s frenzy. 

 

The kiss grew wet and heated. Castiel was lost in the frantic lash of Dean’s tongue, but he was quick to find a foothold in the onslaught. A faint whimper tinged in confusion echoed from Castiel’s lips, and he pushed forward, pressing his groin against Dean’s, searching for a nameless sensation he’d never been human enough to experience. 

 

Burning lungs tore them apart, and Dean groaned, rolling his hips against the growing fullness of Castiel’s crotch. 

 

“D-dean...I don’t...This feels — ” Castiel snapped a hand to Dean’s shoulder, gripping as a wanton moan rumbled from his chest at another insistent press of their hips. 

 

Consciously, Dean figured Castiel had never done this before. Why would he? He hadn’t even been human more than a month, and the human part was in quote-bunnies at this point as long as the stumps were on his back. But Dean didn’t care. He’d fucked himself over a vampire’s cock, what did it matter anymore?

 

Dean pushed Castiel back a pace, ignoring the mourned loss of contact on Castiel’s tongue. He dropped gracelessly to his bruised knees, barely aware of the protests of his aching body. Castiel was looking at him as if Cas expected him to headbutt him now that he was down here. 

 

Dean smirked, hands grasping at Castiel’s hemline and unceremoniously tugging down the drawstring of the shapeless sweatpants until the man’s half-filled cock bobbed free. The sight of it pulsed an electric surge of arousal down below, and he leaned forward to mouth at the base of Castiel’s length. 

 

“Dean,” Castiel’s hips twitched, hands falling on Dean’s shoulders as he tried in vain to keep himself from wiggling his hips towards Dean’s mouth for more. 

 

Castiel even smelled differently than everyone else. There was the usual musk of mortality there, but there was also an underlying ozone tinged with charcoal. Dean didn’t know why the sickly-char melding with the alluring scent of Castiel’s arousal made the pit in his stomach deepen, but it did. 

 

Dean’s lips parted, and he slurped up the length of Castiel’s filling cock until his nose touched the soft bush of hair nestled at Castiel’s base. Cas keened above him, a hard shiver tearing down the newly-mortal man’s spine. His hips bucked, jamming his length to the very back of Dean’s throat and making Dean gag around it.

 

Castiel had no etiquette, no control over his pleasure. Now that Dean had started Castiel was lost to it. Dean barely had the coordination to reach down and roughly tug his aching length from his jeans as Castiel took to rutting into his throat, little whimpers so out of place on the heavenly soldier's lips. 

 

Dean’s eyes drifted closed, concentrating on the rough burn of Castiel’s dick sliding against his sore throat, or the sensation of the man’s hands gripping wildly at the back of his head. 

 

A hot gush of warmth spilled down the back of Dean’s throat without warning, and seconds later Castiel whined low, shuddering hard as his hips jerked and twitched through the hard pulses of his orgasm. Even after the final surge of liquid flowed over Dean’s tongue, Castiel seemed reluctant to leave the warmth of Dean’s mouth. 

 

As Castiel softened on his tongue, Dean spilled, hand flying over his cock in rough tugs as he striped the floor and Castiel’s foot in turns.   
  
Castiel sagged, legs giving out until he was mirroring Dean’s position on the floor, forehead beaded with sweat and pupils blown to hell and back. Even as he shivered through the adrenaline, Castiel looked frightened of the overwhelming pleasure that had raged through his body. That Dean had torn from him. 

 

Guilt chased away the afterglow in seconds, and Dean swallowed past the pervasive flavor, but the emptiness that was usually chased away by a hard fuck was still there. Growing. It was replacing the void the anger had filled, spreading into every corner. 

 

Dean blinked, and tears began to fall. They started in a silent trickle, pouring down his flushed cheeks. A hard breath broke the silence, and Dean lost the final threads of his composure, sinking his forehead and gripping his hands over his knees to hunch himself against the humiliation of breaking down into tears after giving head like his life had depended on it. His father would have killed him for being so pathetic. 

 

Warm arms folded around his shoulders, pulling him close until Dean tipped the rest of the way and buried his face against Castiel’s chest. Castiel’s hand moved in comforting circles against his back, even as he soaked the fabric of Cas’ shirt. His only saving grace was that the shirt muffled the sniveling.

 

Weeks ago, Dean had held Castiel’s broken, fever-ridden form as the angel wailed in his arms. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d held on, terrified under the force of Castiel’s grief. He’d stared down at Cas while the man’s fingers buried uncomfortably against his back, much like he was doing to Castiel now. 

 

Something had shifted between them, and Dean feared the wayward tides.

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

Mark 13:20

And if the Lord had not cut short the days, no human being would be saved. But for the sake of the elect, whom he chose, he shortened the days.

* * *

 

Things were different. Everyone knew it. Dean had spent so much time around these people, crammed together in the same place, that everyone knew each other’s tells.

 

When the grumbles resurfaced about Castiel over the next two weeks Dean could have handled them better, sure. But everyone could mind their damn business. They’d wanted Dean to be the one making decisions, and now they wanted to question him? They couldn’t have it both ways.

 

Maybe Dean made sure Castiel had someone he trusted by his side when Dean couldn’t shadow him. Maybe he was allowing Castiel more free rein in the compound. And maybe he trusted Castiel enough now that he would let the man watch over Sam when Dean was forced to sleep or leave. 

 

It didn’t mean he’d forgotten what Castiel was, or what he’d done. But, what Castiel said that night a few weeks ago weighed heavily on Dean’s mind. Castiel was right, he could never fathom what it was like to be that old. To see that much then watch it all fade to nothingness. It had stung enough when John began his descent into madness, what would it be like to be a literal child of God then be abandoned? 

 

“You sure you’re up for it?” Dean asked over the breakfast table, eyeing Castiel as he stared at his held coffee cup with eyes half mast. Castiel looked exhausted, but he’d just come off a pretty bad episode the night before. It wasn’t unusual for Castiel to be wiped afterward.

 

Castiel took a measured sip, “Yes, Dean.” He answered tersely. It might have gotten Dean’s hackles up a month ago, but Castiel’s growing dislike for handful of hours after waking was pretty hilarious. An ex-angel that wasn’t a morning person, imagine that.

 

Dean shrugged and finished up his...bowl of something. It tasted vaguely like cornmeal and some kind of sweetener. Benny had been the one with the magic hand for cooking, vampire or not. 

 

Weight threatened on Dean’s chest and he bent closer to his bowl, licked his spoon clean, and chased it down with the dregs of his acorn-coffee. It wasn’t bad, and it kind of covered up the taste of the bitter water. It was about as much of a treat as they got these days. 

 

“Is he…?” Castiel trailed, the corners of his eyes creasing.

 

Dean’s shoulders tensed, the urge to throw Castiel’s concern away nearly visceral. “He’s uh, he’s a little mobile again today, so that’s good.” Sam’s health was in limbo, stuck between good days and bad days. On the good, he could still sit in the Mess and chat with friends, and on the bad, he couldn’t keep things down and the fevers would make him hallucinate. 

 

Dean ran a tired hand down his face, body desperate for more than the few hours sleep he’d allowed himself the night before. He caught himself before he could ask Castiel to see if Sam would like to go outside, conscious of the collar sitting heavy against the man’s neck.

 

Castiel hadn’t been outside in even longer than Sam. He’d never mentioned a desire, but after going from soaring in the sky, to being imprisoned underground, Castiel had to feel restless. Sometimes it was too easy to forget the circumstances that had lead Castiel here, but a glimpse of the collar or the bones sticking out from the small holes cut in Castiel’s shirts were jarring reminders. 

 

They hadn’t talked about what had transpired between them yet, but things were different. It was easier to be in Castiel’s space. More than once Dean had helped Castiel shave the stubble on his chin, conscious of the constant tremor in Castiel’s hands.

 

“Good.” Castiel drained his cup, reaching to rub his scarred hands over the crown of his head. His hair was growing in quickly, a little over a half inch of dark brown hair darkening the sun-deprived skin. It looked nice on him, made him look less feral than he had as ‘Blue’. 

 

Castiel’s eyes flicked up catching Dean staring, and Dean started. “I’m off.” Dean stood, feeling heat simmer pink on his cheeks. 

 

Castiel’s gaze followed him up, “Be safe.” 

 

Dean stalled, brows furrowing. Castiel had never said that before. An unnecessary warmth flooded through Dean’s chest, threatening to warm the pink to burning. “Y-yeah. I’m just doing maintenance rounds outside. Chill.” 

 

A small smile quirked Castiel’s lips, and Dean forced himself to turn and walk away, ignoring the hard thump of his heart in his chest. 

 

* * *

 

 

Dean should have known a parameter check would leave him limping down the hallway, half drenched in mud, and his knee smarting like a bitch. It had rained recently, which was usually a blessing since the atmosphere went to hell a few years back, but today it had gotten the best of him. A careless step and a slip was going to leave him with a fat knee for days. 

 

He nearly made it to his hallway when he heard a sharp shout and a thud. Ahead of him, the torches lining the residential hall sputtered out as if a great breath flooded the small space with its presence.

 

“Nononono!” Bum knee or not, Dean ran, slamming into the door of his and Sam’s bedroom, fully expecting the worst. He could recognize an angel’s grace being used now in his sleep - the electric charge it left in the air. The hairs on his arms stood on end the moment his hand touched the doorknob.

 

Sam was knelt on the floor, grasping at Castiel’s shoulders as the man hunched over a body on the floor. “Cas! Cas it’s okay, just, it’s okay. Let her go, it’s okay!” Sam soothed, flicking his bloodshot eyes up at Dean with a mixture of relief and desperation. “Dean!”

 

Dean staggered against the doorframe. Sam was okay. Sam was alive. Castiel hadn’t fried Sam’s soul out of his head, or worse,  _ ate _ it. 

 

His brows furrowed, and a moment later he realized who was on the floor. “Why’s...Cas why did you kill Ruby?” Not that he minded, but seeing the demon’s body splayed on the ground with empty, blackened eyes had been the last thing he’d expected while running here. 

 

Castiel shook his head, but his hands relinquished his desperate clutch against Ruby’s shoulder. “I didn’t...I didn’t mean to.” He whispered. Strain wrote itself over his face, and he turned towards Sam. “Sam I, I’m sorry.”

 

Sam blinked, his brows climbing towards his hairline. “Cas you saved my ass!” Seeing that Dean was still impatient for answers, Sam swallowed and gestured weakly towards the demon’s body. “Ruby was, fuck, she was trying to get me to drink again and I — ” He shivered, but the possibility was there. Sam had just admitted to being tempted by body language alone, “Castiel wouldn’t let her.” He smiled softly, reaching out to gently squeeze Castiel’s bicep.

 

Castiel wiped a smear of blood from a cut Ruby’s nails had left on his left cheek, and his eyes began to well with tears. “I’m so sorry Sam,” he repeated.

 

Dean eased into the room, shutting the door behind him.”The fuck you sorry for man?” He could kiss Cas right now, except that called into question far too many things Dean was trying to ignore lately. “I’ve been wanting to do that for months.” He sneered, looking down at Ruby with a satisfied smirk.

 

Neither Winchester expected the stifled sob that interrupted their relief. They turned to look at Castiel, hunched against the floor with his head bowed towards his neatly folded legs, hands clutched over his pant legs.

 

“...Cas?” Dean ventured.

 

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” Castiel shivered, “I didn’t want to use it like that.”

 

Sam looked between the corpse and Castiel, “Use what? Your grace?” 

 

The mere mention sent a hard shiver through Castiel’s body, and he bowed deeper into his grief. “I’m s...so sorry,” he repeated, fat tears falling to the floor. 

 

Dean slowly knelt, glancing over Cas’ body for guidance. Sam was always better in emotional situations.

 

“Castiel,” Sam’s feeble grip tightened a little, “You did good you know? I...I wouldn’t have been able to resist her. I’m, I’m weak. You saved my life.” The comforting words had the opposite effect, and Castiel leaned so deeply his forehead nearly touched the floor. 

 

“I damned you!” Castiel gasped, “It was...it was supposed to heal you! Not kill!” 

 

The Winchesters stilled, dawning breaking over their expression, one shifting to realization, and the other cracking at the edges. Dean had never even thought that Castiel could heal the damage the demon’s blood left behind in Sammy. Hadn’t even occurred to him. Stupid! How could he had been so stupid? Of course, a goddamn  _ angel _ could heal a demon’s taint. 

 

“Cas…” Sam’s face softened and his hand raised to press gently to Castiel’s back. The touch tensed Castiel’s shoulders, and the ivory bones protruding from the man’s back shuttered and crumbled into dust. A fall of pale ash blanketed Castiel’s back, leaving only ugly, raised scars glimpsed through the holes in his shirt. What little angel was left behind was gone, leaving only a scarred, forsaken human behind. 

 

Dean’s hand fell against the other shoulder blade, grasping tighter than he should, but the words wouldn’t come. Castiel had intended to use the last bit of his grace to heal his brother. Ruby had been a thorn in their side from the start, but she’d always been a means to an end. John had convinced them of this. Always for the greater good, but John hadn’t known shit about the ‘greater good’. What use was living when you had to sacrifice the people you loved to do it?

 

He hoped his gratitude could be felt in the touch. The knowing is what lodged the words in his throat. The knowing that things could have been okay. That Sam didn’t have to die this slow, painful death because of their collective greed and fears. That once again they’d been kicked when they were down. 

 

They had been so goddamn close.

* * *

 

 

Three days after throwing Ruby’s body in one of the lowest sections to rot found them sitting in one of the communal rooms, shifting uncomfortably on salvaged chairs. 

 

“What’s going on Cas?” Dean asked, eyeing the man sitting solemnly at the core of the small group. Cas had asked Dean to assembled his most trusted, and he’d compiled without question. Something else had shifted days ago, and this time Dean knew it was for the better. 

 

Castiel raised his head, looking around the group as if he was trying to memorize each and every one. “I think the last of my fragmented memory has fallen into place,” He paused when Mr. Fizzles jumped into his lap, but the usual half-smile that often accompanied the head-pats wasn’t there.

 

“I’ve remembered something that could be,” his hand lingered on the cat’s back, savoring the touch of warm if not coarse fur underneath his hand, “beneficial to you all.”

 

“Like what? Out with it.” Jo grumbled, ignoring the glares.

 

Castiel took a steadying breath, eyes finding Dean’s. “Before I was taken to the Program, I knew many in the resistance cell that opposed Michael’s decision to go to war. Had I not been so easily tricked, I would no doubt have joined them.” A wry smirk that Dean recognized all too well curled Castiel’s shoulders. Hindsight was a bitch. 

 

“They often spoke of a holy artifact, a piece of Adam Kadmon nestled at the base of the Tree of Life in Eden with the potential to change even the Father’s will.” Castiel paused as people bristled, shifting in their seats as those that had been half-listening snapped to attention.

 

“Who?” Dean spoke up first, “It’s been a hell of a long time since any of us went to church Cas.”

 

Castiel waved the question off, “It is hard to explain. Adam Kadmon is a ‘whom’ and a ‘what’, the distillation of God’s light and potential, separate and apart of.” 

 

Thankfully, it was Sam that came to his rescue, “It’s part of Kabbalah, Dean, you wouldn’t have ever learned about it,” he supplied with a sheepish smile. He was sure only he, Kevin, and Castiel had any idea what was going on at this point.

 

“So you’re saying there’s a piece of...potential?” Kevin cut in, scooting a little forward in his chair. The kid had taken to conversation with Castiel lately, now that half the compound was convinced Castiel was on their side rather than Heaven’s. The others had enough self-preservation to keep their mouths shut.

 

“The resistance called it Elysium.” As usual, he only expected the two scholars to nod their heads, “It is a tool of rebirth meant for the righteous. A failsafe meant to reseed the earth in times of great cataclysm.”

 

“What, like what wiped out the dinosaurs or that supposed Great Flood didn’t do that already?” Dean smirk dried up at the withering look shot his way.

 

“There were already plans in motion for earth’s recovery in those times Dean. This war between Michael and Lucifer was...unprecedented. I know my — ” Castiel paused, blinking briefly, “-angels and demons speak as if this War was always planned, but none really thought it would come to pass. I do not know why, but the angels around Michael were the ones to push for it and they disturbed the natural balance.” 

 

“Got it, and?” Jo pressed on, tiring of the footnotes.

 

“Michael made mention of finding it, but it would be useless to him. It takes the soul of the righteous, one marked by the Lailah - The Angel of the Night and the tender of growing souls, to awake Elysium.” 

 

A groan punched through the small group, “So that kind of fucks us doesn’t it?” Dean grumbled, “Unless you have one of those souls lying around.”

 

Mr. Fizzles jumped down from Castiel’s lap, and their eyes met once more. “I don’t, but I know of one such soul. I have told you before.” A moment went by, then five, and still Castiel’s eyes didn’t stray from Dean’s.

 

Sam sucked in a sharp breath that nearly sent him into a coughing fit - being upright this long was more of a challenge than he’d admit. “Are you trying to say Dean is-?” 

 

Castiel nodded, “He is marked by Lailah, I have seen his soul before I fell. He was nursed at the hands of Heaven’s Night in Lailah, and the Light of Adam Kadmon. All others Lailah sends periodically into the world with her blessing have perished, Lucifer made sure of this. I am admittedly surprised Ruby never made move to kill you, for surely she could have seen your soul and known its significance.”

 

Dean phased out somewhere around ‘marked by’. His hand rubbed against his chest, a foolish attempt to touch at the supposed specialness of his soul. Castiel couldn’t be serious. Dean had written off Castiel’s mumbling those weeks before as mere side effects to a seizure, not anything significant. He wasn’t….he couldn’t be…

 

The stillness was broken by a ragged cough, and Dean was quick to produce a rag from his pocket to pass to Sam as he coughed. Minutes ticked by until Sam calmed, sucking in quiet wheezes as Jo rubbed ineffectively at his back. The grey rag came away flecked with blood. 

 

Their eyes were drawn to the blood, a blazing fire within the drab room lit only by oil lamps. 

 

Sam held up a hand to stop Dean from talking long before he even managed to shove his horror down long enough to ask if Sam was alright. “O-okay, so what happens then. If Dean uses it?” Sam rasped, hiding the bloodied cloth in his fist to break the trance that had fallen over the room.

 

Castiel blinked against the surge of fresh guilt, “The world would simply restart. A fresh bloom in the cosmos. All the clean souls still in existence would begin again in Elysium, a blessed existence free of the poor decisions of the Father. One crafted by a melding of Light and Dark, rather than the division.” 

 

“Start over? Like, we don’t exist anymore?” Kevin squeaked, eyes widening as his attention trickled back towards the task at hand.

 

“We’re not going to fucking blow up the planet Cas!” Dean cut in, casting a sidelong glance at Sam. “We want to fix things, not fuck it up more.”

 

Castiel’s hands worried at his pants, plucking stray strands of cat hair from the cloth. “It is too late for that Dean. The planet, and humanity is doomed.” His hands stilled, shoulders sagging.”There are too few resources left, too few humans. The planet is past its tipping point. There is no coming back as it is now. Even without the conflict, you would all die of lack of fresh water or food within the next fifteen years and whatever offspring you produced would perish as well. That is if you survive the other monstrous ilk left when the angels and demons have departed.”

 

It was a smack in the face. Castiel might as well have said even trying at this point was futile. No matter the option, they would all die. 

 

“But...”

 

The single word managed to pull Dean’s eyes from the floor. He hadn’t even realized he’d been staring.

 

“With Elysium there would be no monsters. Only beings with souls weighed and found pure will be reborn. It won’t reclaim those souls that have been lost to angels’ greed, or demonic corruption, but it will pull down those still left in Heaven after the angels weren’t able to ascend.” Castiel had been one of the many unable to ascend back to Heaven once he’d been on earth’s damning shores too long. Only those that stayed out of the conflict managed to travel back and forth now. 

 

“Pure souls?” Max spoke up from the back with a smirk, “Kind of votes out at least half of us, doesn’t it?” His eyes cut to Sam, and while there was no malice in his eyes, he didn’t make an effort to blunt his meaning either. He doubted either he or Sam were getting anywhere in this ‘new world’.

 

Dean’s chair clattered to the floor from the force of him standing, swollen knee twinging uncomfortably. “Shut the fuck up, Max,” he growled, warning the witch away from any more snark unless he wanted his skinny ass laid out. 

 

A light touch on his wrist stuttered his hackles, and Dean returned to Sam’s side, threatening intent never breaking from Max’s line of sight.

 

“It’s fine Dean. I knew the deal the first time I used.” Sam shrugged, grimacing at the torrent of pain the little motion caused. “We should still do it. This is our best option. If we can’t save ourselves, we can save others.”

 

“Yeah, and he could be lying, think of that?” Jo’s stance said she wasn’t buying it, but the semi-wild look in her eyes said otherwise. Her mother’s soul hadn’t been harvested, and there had been few other people as good as Ellen Harvelle. The thought that her mother’s soul might be able to be reborn couldn’t be far from her mind.

 

Dean reached out to smooth Sam’s damp bangs back from his clammy forehead, “Cas wouldn’t lie about this.” He wished Castiel was capable of that. Capable of playing such a cruel joke, then maybe it would feel less like they were marching to the gallows. It was one thing to just hope they could hold out, but having an expiration date hovering over them now was sobering. 

 

“Best shot we have, isn’t it?” A brittle smile curled Dean’s lips, looking around the room at the faces he’d grown to rely on over the years. A ragtag family missing far too many members. “It’s a shit plan, but it’s the best we got.” His hand slid down to cup against the back of Sam’s neck, needing to feel the timid pulse of Sam’s jugular against his stretched thumb. 

 

“Still, don’t spread it around. We don’t know if this will work, and no use causing panic. We all know our days are numbered anyhow...We’ve always known it.” The bone-deep exhaustion was ever present. No amount of sleep or pitifully scraped up rations would chip away at it.

 

It was it in every eye present. The quiet wish for more and the knowing there would never be. This was all they had to hope for. More of the same. More fighting. More struggle. More pain.

 

Dean’s eyes lingered on Sam as he gently nudged him to stand. The others could keep talking, but he needed to get Sam back to bed before he fell over on the floor. 

 

Seeing the strain in Sammy’s face, or hearing the brittle pops of his too-thin body, Dean couldn’t believe that anything could judge Sam’s soul as impure. Everything Sam had done was for the good of others, even if he’d gotten a little lost along the way. Sam desired a spot in a new world far more than he did. Dean didn’t know how any idiot could judge him righteous, but as long as he could take Sam along with him, they could call him anything they damned well please.

 

The half-vocalized thanks when he folded Sam away in bed threatened to collapse things around him, but Dean held firm.

 

“You’re welcome brat, I always mopped up your snotty nose when we were kids remember?” Dean huffed a chuckle he didn’t feel as he forced Sam to take a few sips of water, and pressed a damp rag to his forehead.”Get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning. You just did too much today.”

 

They both knew Dean was lying, but neither one of them wanted to call it. Sometimes humans were just happier with the lies.

  
  
  



	13. Chapter 13

Matthew 24:9

"Then they will deliver you to tribulation, and will kill you, and you will be hated by all nations because of My name.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Dean didn’t like this. The rough ‘plan’ knocked around his head for days while Castiel busied himself gathering the things they’d need. Everyone that knew of Elysium walked a little heavier these days, smiles straining as they ate and chatted with the rest of the compound’s occupants. How could they act normal when they were trying to speed up the end of the world?

 

“How do you know they’ll even answer?” Dean grumbled, passing off another precious candle for Castiel’s summoning. 

 

Castiel moved around the cleared out room in the lower levels, too close to Castiel’s old cell for them to ignore. His hand traced wide sweeping circles and sigils onto the floor with a pale stone, pausing to place a candle or a recovered feather from the decayed mass of his wings.  Dean had retrieved them from the room an hour ago, passing the black feathers from his shaking hand to Castiel’s quivering. For how nauseated it made Dean now, Castiel looked moments away from puking as he handled the once glossy lengths. 

 

“I don’t,” Castiel answered gruffly, struggling to use the remains of his appendages in such a simple spell. 

 

Dean sighed, leaning back against the wall to let his eyes drift briefly closed. He hadn’t slept more than a handful of hours in days. Between this Elysium business and the rattling wheeze of Sam’s breath in the bed next to his, sleep had been the furthest thing on his mind. Sam had barely left their bedroom since the day of the meeting, alternating between long bouts of troubled sleep and struggling through the barest bits of food and what little water Dean could get down him.

 

Before his thoughts could spiral further into the dark depths of reflection, the sound of Castiel stepping close to retrieve a bit of fire from the lantern drew Dean’s attention. His eyes flared open in time to meet Castiel’s, the man’s hand poised to set fire to the small stick clutched at his fingertips.

 

They stared in the pits of the compound, the stale air heavy in their lungs. Castiel looked simultaneously older and younger than he had as Blue. Dean had dragged Castiel from one life of imprisonment to another, but Castiel never treated him with the resentment he reserved for ‘Naomi’ or Michael. Somedays he almost seemed thankful.

 

Dean’s eyes strayed from Castiel’s gemlike eyes and down to the length of his bare neck. The Naysayers of the compound had nearly shit themselves when Dean removed the collar tethering Castiel to the plant, but the effect it had on him was instantaneous. He’d heard Castiel laugh that night at a silly, innocuous joke Dean snorted out through a mouthful of viscid rations. Castiel’s eyes crinkled when he laughed, a gummy, full-bodied thing that made bees buzz anxiously in Dean’s stomach. 

 

Dean swallowed, pulling his eyes away and side-stepping to let Castiel get to the lantern. 

 

Minutes later the summoning circle flared to life as the seventh candle was lit, and with a splash of blood from Castiel’s palm, it began to glow. 

 

Castiel mumbled something in Enochian, but Dean caught ‘Gabriel’ within the words, and his heart leaped into his chest. He’d known Castiel meant to summon an Angel he trusted, but one of the goddamn archangels? 

 

Dean stepped forward, intent on grasping Castiel’s shoulder and tearing him back from the circle. There had to be a better Angel to summon than  _ Gabriel _ . Someone a hell of a lot less high-profile. 

 

The candles burst into pillars of white flame, bathing the room in brilliant light than burned like the sun against Dean’s exposed skin. A thunderous blast of brassy, sonorous notes filled the air, choking out the rest of his senses until Dean nearly collapsed.

 

Abruptly, both cut off, and in the stillness reigned, ”Cas?” A male voice spoke, neither deep or sweet.

 

Castiel shivered, shaking off the disorientation with a thin smile. “It’s been a long time, Gabriel.” He looked towards the circle, blinking the after images away. 

 

The sound of wings punctuated a sharp intake of breath, and there were three figures standing within the circle a moment after. Two obviously male, and the other female. 

 

“I suppose this answers what happened to Uriel,” the tallest male smirked, accented and smarmy. 

 

“Oh, Castiel.” The female muttered with pity laced heavy in her voice.

 

The middle figure, one with massive golden wings in pairs of three, sneered faintly. “I guess this would be a fairly shitty time to say I-told-you-so...but.” His wings rustled, folding against his diminutive size, framing him in a halo of glittering gold. 

 

Castiel swallowed, squaring his shoulders to face the three angels before him.”Gabriel, thank you for answering my summons...I admit I didn’t know if you would answer, let alone Hannah and Balthazar.” His eyes swiveled to the one called ‘Balthazar’, “Though I profess surprise seeing you here.”

 

Balthazar smirked, crossing his arms over his chest and cocking his hip just slightly. His singular pair of pale blue-grey wings rustled, posturing. “Well, it’s better than becoming one of Michael’s toy soldiers.” 

 

Dean was close enough to see the flinch pass over Castiel’s face, a brief look of pain writing itself across his usually stoic visage. Stepping up, Dean placed himself at Castiel’s side, hand drifting to his hip to draw one of the two angel blades stuck in his belt, pressing Castiel’s own blade into his hand while Dean kept Uriel’s sheathed at his side.

 

At first, it didn’t seem to register to Castiel what had happened, just wordlessly accepting the sword made to mold to his fingers like he was rediscovering a lost limb. A second later he sucked in a small breath, looking back at Dean with wondrous eyes. The collar had been one thing, but Dean giving him back his angel blade was a sign of trust not lost on Castiel, even in that moment. 

 

A delighted laugh broke the tense silence, and Gabriel reached out to slap Balthazar on his shoulder with a resounding ‘smack’. “Is that any way to treat dear ol’ Cassy, Bal? Look at him. wingless, with a pretty bodyguard, I  _ have _ to hear this story.” He chortled, scuffing his booted feet against the makeshift chalk outline and breaking the sigil effortlessly. Castiel hadn’t thought for a second the circle would contain the archangel, he’d never meant it to.

 

“Cas…” Dean leaned close, hand flexing on his the blade.

 

Castiel wordlessly sheathed the blade at his side, “It’s alright, Dean. If they were going to take me back, they would have killed you already.” Not that the sentiment made Dean feel any better. 

 

“Dean is it?” Gabriel’s brows waggled as he stepped closer, peering up at Dean with a satyric grin. “Well Cas, I’m not going to say you can’t pick the pretty ones, but this one is all dings and dents. Can practically hear his soul screaming.” He reached to pat Dean’s chest in a way that was probably meant to be comforting, but to Dean, it just felt condescending. Dean tried to move away, but his feet were rooted to the floor. Gabriel’s grin broadened. 

 

“Gabriel, Please. If it wasn’t for Dean I would still be under Naomi’s control. It was either my wings or my mind.” Castiel sighed, resisting the urge to roll his shoulders as if the movement would simulate the little flutter the Angels’ wings gave at even hearing Castiel speak of his winging.

 

Dean’s face pinched. Castiel made it sound like he’d been given a choice. As if Dean hadn’t subjected him to days of torture and abuse to get to where they were now. As if he forgave him.

 

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, swiveling between Dean and Castiel critically. “Uh-huh, whatever you say baby-bird.” The nickname made the stricken look return to Castiel’s face, but none of them commented on how it was hardly applicable anymore. 

 

“Why’s an Archangel on tap?” Dean finally cut in, stifling down the instinctive fear and rage that threatened in his core at seeing an Archangel right in front of him, close enough to spear. 

 

“Not that it’s any of your business, Dean-o, but I’m not ‘on tap’, some brats get special privileges,” he winked over at Castiel, but his face fell when the comment didn’t garner the reaction he’d been going for. “Damn kid, what’d that bitch do to your noodle?” He mumbled, motioning Castiel forward with an impatient twitch of his finger.

 

Castiel stepped hesitantly forward, bending wordlessly to let Gabriel inspect the puffy scars dotting Castiel’s forehead. A small touch thumb his thumb had Castiel recoiling with a small hiss of pain. 

 

Sensing the familiar pattern, Dean reached out to grasp Castiel’s arm before the man’s legs could buckle from under him. The seizures and time lapses might be getting better, but Castiel was still prone to muscle weakness and tremors when stressed or tired...two prevalent states for all of them of late.

 

“Can you heal him?” Hannah asked, coffee wings twitching. 

 

Gabriel hummed quietly, “Nope.” He popped the ‘p’ with a small shrug, “‘Fraid my healing skills ain’t too hot lately, and what Naomi did, well let’s just say it’d take a few days and a lot of Hail-Marys to undo that scramble.  All the king’s horses, and all the king’s men and all that.” He kept himself from tittering, just barely. “But something tells me what you summoned me for is going to be taking up the time I could be spending trying to super-glue your cluster-fuck back together?”

 

Balthazar snorted, “I-, just  _ look _ at them. They have ‘stupid incoming’ written all over them, so if summoning an archangel and his tag-alongs wasn’t stupid enough.” He made a good show of acting aloof, but the next time his eyes swept back over Castiel, the bright pale blue pools softened. “Just look at you Cassy.”

 

Castiel’s back stiffened, jaw squaring. “I’m quite aware, Balthazar. Thank you,” he answered quickly, punctuated by an audible breath drawn through his nose. “And yes, I’ve helped Dean summon you to provide more information on Elysium.”

 

That sobered the expressions of the three angels quickly, even the pint-sized jackass of an archangel Dean hadn’t stopped glaring at yet.

 

“So I guess everyone’s heard about it?” Dean piped up as he crossed his arms over his chest, already done with the conversation before it started. He should have figured just because they were Castiel’s allies wouldn’t mean they weren’t going to be as big of assholes as any other angel he’d met. Castiel was proving to be the exception to the rule. 

 

A harsh snort huffed from Gabriel’s chest, “Yeah, you could say we’ve heard of it, mudball. But if that’s what you two want to hitch your little red wagons to, hate to burst your bubble, but it’s a pipe dream kiddies. Even if I wanted to watch Michael’s grand plans blow up in his self-righteous face, there’s no one left to do it.” He shrugged, ignoring the side-eye of the only woman in the room. 

 

“I might be wingless, but I could see what you three no doubt can before your eyes. There is obviously one that could use it.” Castiel growled, stepping closer to Dean as if he was daring the angels to look away.

 

Dean shifted uncomfortably, aware of all eyes not only on him but on his very soul. Gabriel’s honey colored eyes flayed him deep, laying him out without stitch or shadow as covering. All of what he was weighed in Gabriel’s eyes, eyes as old as existence. 

 

“Funny that...Thought Michael had hunted down every last Righteous years ago, but lucky you Cas, you found a model.” Gabriel teased, but there was little mirth in the broad grin. “Still, sorry to tell you baby bro, still no dice. Can’t get into Heaven, even on these beauties.” His wings splayed, causing the lesser angels to side-step to avoid the six fans of glittering gold.

 

Castiel’s shoulders sagged, “You have been barred as well? Is there no one else?”

 

Hannah made to step forward, but Gabriel’s right wings kept her at bay.

 

“Why you lookin’ Cas? Thought you had  _ faith _ that dear ol’ dad was going to swoop in and fix everything?” 

 

Dean heard Castiel’s sharp breath and, for a panicked minute, he thought Castiel was going to fall into one of his more dire fits. The man’s posture was stiff and guarded, but he didn’t look pale or had the glazed look of his mind starting to rebel from its core. 

 

Castiel swallowed hard, hands briefly clenching into fists. “I’ve learned. Do you want an ‘I told you so’ Gabriel? If it would please you and give us your aid, then by all means. Rub it in. I know you delight in it.” The acerbic hiss tried to cover the hurt, but Dean knew better. He’d avoided talking about God since  _ that _ night, and Dean wasn’t keen on reminding either of them the details of that charged discussion. Castiel had believed with all his heart that God wouldn’t abandon them to this fate, and every day that went by opened another cut. 

 

“Gabriel,” Hannah insisted, reaching out to grasp his shoulder. 

 

Slowly, Gabriel’s wings went slack, and he heaved a great sigh. “Leave it to you to suck  _ all _ the fun out of being right baby-b — ” The nickname halted in his throat, and he hefted an even bigger sigh.”Fuck, yeah alright, Hannah go ahead.”

 

A barely-there smile quirked Hannah’s small lips, “I can still get into Heaven. Naomi and her spies don’t know I am apart of Gabriel’s resistance, as of yet.” Her smile faltered, “But, angels can’t touch Elysium. Only Adam Kadmon and Lailah could touch it. No Angel, nor demon, may wield it.”

 

Dean reached out to grasp Castiel’s wrist before the man could open his mouth. “Cas…” Castiel’s eyes looked at him sadly, hand slowly turning until Dean released his grip. To Dean’s surprise, Castiel trailed his hand against his own, Castiel’s fingers dusting his palm.

 

“I’m human now, fully. You can take me as a prisoner and a usurper without raising suspicion.” Castiel held his head up as if finally getting a role to play in the end of the world was something worth being proud of when it only made Dean feel sick.

 

“Once we are in, we will have to turn our blades on our brothers and sisters. You know that.” Hannah smiled sadly, “We are...used to that in some degree, but you haven’t had to commit such atrocities when in the right state of mind.” She glanced piteously at the scars on Castiel’s forehead. 

 

“I am still a soldier, human or not.” Castiel insisted gruffly, “We will find our way to the Garden, there shouldn’t be many residing near Eden now anyway. Once we have Elysium you can bring me back to earth.”

 

“Are you forgetting you will have a horde after you? As soon as you touch it they’re going to  _ know _ . Nothing Adam Kadmon created can leave Eden without it rippling through the spheres.” Balthazar threw in, busy looking down at his polished shoe guards as if the dingy floor would leap up and stain his shining armor. 

 

“That’s easy,” Dean snorted. “As soon as you’re back here, you can do that sigil you taught us.” The sigil for Angel banishment had been one of the key reasons so many had come around to seeing Castiel as more friend than foe. 

 

Balthazar bristled, swiveling towards Castiel accusingly.”You taught a bunch of mudmen the banishing sigil?”

 

“Of course. I, for one, have Angels to fear now more than ever, don’t I?” Castiel reminded with an eye roll so derisive it rivaled Sam’s as a teenager.

 

Before any more squabbling could break out, Hannah cleared her throat. “Alright, Castiel will banish the pursuers. It will banish me as well, so we have to make sure there are watches expecting Castiel to get him inside where it’s warded.” Dean nodded his agreement, “Then it will be up to you, Righteous Man, to activate Elysium.”

 

“How the hell am I gunna do that?” Dean asked, bristling when he felt a twitch of warmth against his hand. He looked down, realizing that his and Castiel’s hand were still loosely intertwined. 

 

Gabriel snorted softly as Castiel and Dean’s drifted apart, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Romeo. The Righteous are just supposed to know how it works.” 

 

Dean didn’t like the look Gabriel was giving him, but considering the jackass was still an Archangel, he decided not to write checks he couldn’t cash.

 

“Well, as  _ grand _ fun as this has been, I guess we should go prepare for the end of the world. You know, on the fat chance this bullshit actually succeeds.” Gabriel clapped his hands together with an obnoxious grin, “Never thought I’d get a real shot at blowing a cannonball in Michael’s plans, but restarting the world without his grand plan sounds pretty good, and hey, we’re angels, that has to count for a free pass,” he chortled over his shoulder at Balthazar. 

 

“Oh yes, the hedonism and fornicating definitely won’t come back to bite us in the ass at all,” Balthazar supplied sardonically. “Still, I guess it’s better than all  _ this _ ,” he sniffed dubiously, glancing around the room with obvious disgust. “Let’s go, before the stink of it all gets under my armor.”

 

Balthazar disappeared with a rustle of wings, and Cas and Dean silently marveled that the angels even had enough grace left to fly. 

 

“Kick ass, Cassy. Always knew you had a bit of a hellraiser in there. I’m going to take credit for that one,” Gabriel winked, casting fond eyes that Dean would hazard to describe as affectionate. 

 

Castiel exhaled a wavering breath, “Of course you would.” Wistful memories filled the silence between them, “Nevermind that your carelessness caused me to break a wing as a fledgling.”

 

Gabriel threw back his head and laughed, a sound so warm and rich that it even tugged a smile to Dean’s lips. “Always remembering the bullshit, that’s our Cassy. I’d say ‘Godspeed’, but you know, fuck ‘im,” he grinned, wings stirring to life. 

 

Briefly, in the radiance of his amusement, sorrow flashed in Gabriel’s eyes. “It was good to see you Castiel. The real you, again.” Before Castiel could muster a reply, Gabriel winged away on the whisper of gold wings.

 

“I will see you tomorrow Castiel. Prepare yourself.” Hannah turned to look at Dean now, hands gently clasped in front of her. Dean thought she would look more at home in one of his mom’s grey cable knit sweaters or a smart pencil skirt, rather than armor. “You have a great role to play, Dean Winchester. Both of you do...but there is hope in it. This is a better outcome than any of us could have ever hoped for.” Another flurry of wings and they were left alone once more. 

 

Dean’s eyes drifted closed, heart thumping uncomfortably. “Your siblings are dicks.” It hadn’t been what he wanted to say at all. But how could he say that he was having second thoughts? Not because the meeting had made things real, or that they were going to try and hit the proverbial red reset button, but because there was a very real chance that Castiel could get captured or killed far before he ever reached Elysium.

 

Beside him, Castiel snorted. “I won’t argue that.”

 

They stood there in the dark as the candlelight slowly burned out, only the sound of their combined, anxious breaths filling the room.

 

* * *

 

 

It had been hours since they’d dragged themselves to the habitable levels, and Dean still felt the oppressive silence that settled on their souls in the darkness. He sighed, looking down at his baby brother lying prone in his bed, face drawn and breathing labored. Dean dampened the towel for Sam’s forehead once more, placing it reverently against his brother’s brow. 

 

“Just hold on Sam…” Dean whispered irrationally. There would be no cure for Sam, no miraculous touch that would purge the demonic taint from his ravaged body. No salvation. But he couldn’t  _ do _ this without Sam by his side, where he belonged. 

 

A quiet knock tugged his attention away from the rasp in Sam’s inhales, “Come in.” There would be little waking Sam right now anyway, when he slept like this lately it took a firm rousing to get his eyes open. At least this way, Sam didn’t feel the aches and pains of his body quite so viciously. 

 

Castiel eased into the room, eyes instantly sliding to Sam’s still form. “How is he?”

 

Dean shrugged weakly, “About the same as yesterday,” he mumbled. He smoothed the towel against Sam’s forehead and tucked a wayward strand of unruly hair away. “He’s uh...his fever is pretty consistent.” The medications from before had barely touched it, but Dean wanted to think they’d bought Sam a little more time, if only so Benny’s death wouldn’t feel like such a waste. 

 

A firm, warm hand curled over Dean’s shoulder, gently squeezing. “I’m sorry Dean, for all of this. That it all had to come to this.” Castiel’s deep, resonant voice felt like the prickling of an oncoming thunderstorm against his back. 

 

“Cas — ”

 

“They were wrong... _ we _ were wrong.” Castiel continued purposefully, “Before, I thought humanity beautiful, but ultimately lost. I lacked faith...or rather my faith was misplaced.” 

 

Dean turned, catching the bone-deep pain flash through Castiel’s crystalline eyes. “Come on,” he tugged Castiel’s shirt sleeve towards the door. He wanted to pretend that if they talked this loudly around Sam that eventually it would rouse him. He wanted to believe the latest innocuous conversation he had with Sam a few days ago wouldn’t be the last words he heard from his brother’s lips. Though...Sam’s first word had been ‘Dean’, so maybe it was fitting that his last words would be to his big brother as well.

 

They crossed the hall to Castiel’s room, easing inside. 

 

“Cas, it ain’t your fault. It, damn, it took a lot of thought to get that - to get  _ Blue - _ out of my head, but that wasn’t you. And yeah, a lot of your brothers and sisters are grade-A dicks, but I guess a lot of you didn’t want this war just as much as anyone else.” Dean shrugged, plopping down on the edge of Castiel’s creaking bed.

 

“I still wish it could have been different. I would have liked to see how humanity continued to grow.” Castiel sat next to him, sagging under the weight of tomorrow. 

 

The line of their thighs touched where they sat, a steady warmth that crept into Dean’s skin, reminding him that for now, they were both very much alive.

 

“Come back, Cas,” Dean whispered, hand flexing impotently against his knee, wanting to reach out, but too afraid. “Don’t you fucking dare die up with those assholes okay? Just... come back and blast them back to where they belong.” 

 

“I will.” Castiel’s voice was quieter than his own, afraid to shatter the air. Dean would be the first to admit he wasn’t the best at speaking his mind, let alone how he truly felt. Castiel could read him almost as well as Sammy by this point. 

 

Dean’s grip tightened on his knees, “You know when I first saw an Angel going to town on a Demon, I thought it was so cool. Scary as hell, but cool you know? But then all the news reports, all the Angels starting to kill any human that got in their way...it didn’t feel real. Angels weren’t supposed to do that. That’s not what we were taught growing up. Mom said - Mom said that Angels were supposed to look out for us, but here was the world, going to fucking shit from these two things we just talked about like fairy tales.” Dean chuckled weakly, “Hell, those fairy tales turned out to be true too…” He swallowed, gathering his fragmented thoughts.

 

“But you? You’re kind of what I thought angels should be like. What it should be like.” Castiel didn’t understand jokes, was grumpy in the morning and could get waxing poetic about bees, but he was the angel Dean had always hoped for. 

 

A sound between a chuckle and a broken exhale that sounded too close to a sob for Dean to ignore puffed from Castiel’s chest, “I’m just human now.”

 

Dean finally looked up, unclenching his grip from his knees. “Doesn’t matter, you’re still more angel than all those dicks out there.” Every time their eyes met Dean felt electricity course up his spine. Lightning crackled in this eyes, licking gooseflesh up his arms and quickening his heart to a flutter. 

 

“Dean…” Castiel angled his upper body towards Dean, dewy gaze mirroring Dean’s own. 

 

Dean reached out, gently clasping one of Castiel’s hands in his own. “So you better get your ass back down here, Elysium or not...Because I — ” Dean’s voice faltered. If Castiel died up there, so far away, Dean would have no way of knowing. No way of saying goodbye. Castiel had turned his life upside down so many, many times. He was his arch nemesis turned- something more. Something unnamed. Something he dare not speak of for fear of losing it to the cruel world that had torn everything else out of his hands. 

 

“I will,” Castiel repeated, his feathery breath loud in the still room. 

 

Dean’s hand tightened, and he tipped forward. Their lips met in a swell instead of a crash, hands diving up to grasp at cheeks and hair alike to tether themselves against one another’s body. 

 

The sharp salt of shed tears wet their kiss, and quiet hiccups of breath stuttered the slide of their lips, but they kept on. If they parted now, then their fears might really come to pass. If they parted, then the encroaching terror of tomorrow might settle in their bones, robbing them of what little warmth they could find in each other’s body. There was just so little warmth now.

 

Dean’s licked his tongue against Castiel’s lips, teasing them apart until he could intertwine their wet tongues in languid, unhurried passes. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken time to savor someone else’s body. Everything felt like life and death, even sex these days, but now this... there was no death here, just a desperation for life he was going to take hold of until he could root himself inside.

 

Castiel moaned sweetly into the kiss, and slowly Dean guided him to lay back against the bed. They lay side by side, slotted as close as could be, just tasting one another’s mouths. The bristle of their stubble stung cheeks and chin alike, but the bit of pain made it sweeter. Pain was the only way to tell if you were truly still alive anymore.

 

“Dean,” Castiel gasped when Dean’s mouth slid lower, mouthing openly against the stretch of his neck. 

 

Dean hummed softly against Castiel’s jugular, licking out to wet the skin. Castiel made a startled gasp, hands clasping desperately at Dean’s shoulder. “Please, let me give you this.” Dean murmured against the shell of Castiel’s ear. He didn’t want it to be like last time. Where he’d treated Castiel like every other rushed encounter he’d ever had with a man. As if being attracted to men was really something to worry about when the world was crumbling around you. He couldn’t treat Castiel like someone else to be used and forgotten. He already regretted doing that to Benny, and as much as he had cared for Benny, Castiel was a world apart. 

 

Castiel squirmed faintly under Dean’s roving hand that dusted tender fingertips against his chest and side. “I don’t-, I don’t know anything of this, Dean. Before was…” It had been world-shattering for the angel and he hadn’t even gotten to enjoy it. Another regret to tally on the wall of Dean’s mind. 

 

“I know. I know, I’m sorry. We don’t have to, but I...I want to give you this.” It was the only way Dean could express the nebulous feeling welling up within him, threatening to choke out all good sense. He wanted to hide Castiel away, keep him away from Hannah and dash the plan to pieces. He wanted to doom the world for another a few more days. He wanted a few more days of smirking over breakfast as Castiel fussed with that damn cat. He wanted to roll his eyes at Sam and Castiel talking about wonders of nature Dean had long forgotten. He wanted to hold Castiel through his seizures and mumbled quiet nothings until he came around again. 

 

“ _ Dean _ ,” Castiel rolled to meet his hand as it hovered low against Castiel’s navel. 

 

Dean didn’t hazard lower, only peppering barely there kisses against Castiel’s lips and jawline. 

 

Castiel’s hands slide down, rucking up Dean’s shirt slightly to let his fingers splayed against the bare skin of Dean’s back. “ _ Yes _ .” It was a mockery of the permission angels needed from humans to enter and take over their bodies. Spitting in the face of the fate that had brought them together like this. 

 

In the bare room with only a bed, a small pile of threadbare clothing, and an oil lamp, Dean felt peace. He leaned up, nipping and licking at Castiel’s lips as his hand trailed up Castiel’s shirt, nails gently scraping.  Castiel raised up enough that Dean could pull his shirt off, and he paused long enough for Castiel to do the same to him. 

 

Dean sucked in a breath of surprise as Castiel leaned into his chest, burying his face over Dean’s heart and placing a delicate kiss against the freckled skin. 

 

“I didn’t think it would take losing my wings for me to see a grand design. But perhaps this is it,” Castiel whispered, reaching up to drag Dean on top of him with a strength Dean forgot lurked within him. 

 

Dean wouldn’t argue. If Castiel needed to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was order in this madness, he could let him have it. He was tired of the hopelessness. 

 

He rolled his body slowly down against Castiel’s, twin groans filling the air as their denim-clad hips met in a rough slide. Dean was embarrassingly hard already, but Castiel had been straining against his zipper after the deep kiss alone. 

 

Castiel clung close, twitching his hips up to meet Dean’s as much as the position allowed. “D-Dean, please,” he begged in frustration, knowing the heat and pleasure of more but unsure of where Dean wanted to take this. 

 

“I’ve got you. No rush this time.” Dean bent to nose against Castiel’s short crop of dark hair, whispering quiet assurances. 

 

After an eternity Dean finally sat back on his knees and reached for Castiel’s zipper, hooking his fingers in the hemline with a wicked smile. Castiel puffed a quiet sound of frustration and arched his backside up off the bed to let Dean tug down, divesting him of the jeans in a quick slide. 

 

The length of Castiel’s strong, pale olive body didn’t have the effect on Dean he had expected. It was too easy to juxtapose the image of Castiel stripped bare on a cold, metal table, shivering, dripping wet, with a look of madness in his eyes. His wing stumps had smelled of bitter decay. 

 

“Dean?” Castiel leaned up, hooking his hand against Dean’s neck.

 

“I’m sorry Cas...for everything.” Dean shivered, bowing his head against Castiel’s shoulder. “If I’d of known…” His hands groped back, sliding against Castiel’s bare shoulder blades with a miserable whimper. “I’m so sorry.” Castiel’s screams had haunted his nightmares since the night he’d severed the glossy black appendages piece by piece. 

 

Castiel shifted to his knees, molding his body to Dean’s with a quiet sigh. “Dean. I’ve done so many horrible things, things I can never atone for. My right mind or not, this body is drenched in blood.” Neither of them needed a reminder that the same hand that was tenderly stroking the nape of Dean’s neck had been the same one to burst John’s aorta.  “My wings for my sins, and I am still indebted.” His forehead pressed to Dean’s, gently rocking their bodies in a loose sway. 

 

Dean turned his head into Castiel’s neck, nuzzling as his fingers kneaded the rough scars against Castiel’s back. The muscles tensed and quivered underneath Dean’s touch, and Castiel’s small undulations took new purpose. 

 

“They were beautiful Cas.” ‘Like you’, lodged in his throat, and he hoped Castiel could hear it in his voice.

 

“Mmmm, Dean, keep- O-oh.” Castiel quivered, pressing his shoulders back into Dean’s touch. “I-it’s like I can still feel them.”

 

Dean sucked a bruise against the soft skin underneath his lips, greedily marking Castiel for his accession into heaven. His fingers pressed deep, sliding against the bunched scar tissue until Castiel was practically whimpering with need. 

 

Castiel’s hand’s dove for his belt, roughly unbuckling it and fumbling with his button fly. “I  _ want _ . Show me. Show me humanity.” Castiel’s voice was gravel and wrecked, demanding in a way that sent a hard jolt to Dean’s groin. 

 

Hating to part, but needing to nonetheless, Dean backed off the bed to hurriedly pull his jeans down, the length of his arousal bobbing free into the cool air. Castiel watched him with fixed eyes, torn between staring at his face and his arched interest. 

 

Slowly, he eased back onto the bed, and into Castiel’s arms. They stayed on their knees, kissing slow and deep as they ground their nakedness against one another. Quiet moans rumbled against lips, and hands explored, eager for everything but unsure of where to settle for long. 

 

The weight and heat of Castiel pressed against him filled Dean with a satisfaction he’d never known. Their bodies slotted together effortlessly, filling the empty pieces of each other’s souls until it felt like they might be whole again if they just stayed like this long enough. 

 

Castiel began to quake, nails digging into Dean’s back and hip as his lips pressed insistently against the wet, searing warmth of Dean’s own. His eyes had blown wide, the black overtaking the blue and the heavy flush of all-too-human lust lit his cheeks to embers. 

 

“That’s it Cas, Feel me. Just like this.” Dean crooned through a shuddered breath as Castiel’s length began to twitch and leak readily against his own. “It’s okay, I-I’ve got you this time.” 

 

Castiel cried out, spilling between their pressed bodies with desperate surges. Dean held on, swallowing Castiel’s shattered sounds with hungry lips. In those last writhing twitches of Castiel’s body, Dean tipped after him, shuddering through the crash of his climax until their bodies were wet and sated. 

 

They fell to the mattress in a boneless heap, limbs intertwining to savor the shared fire that came not from lust alone, but sheer proximity.

 

The imagined ticking of a looming clock felt a little less damning with the lamp burning low, Castiel’s fingers tracing lazy lines on his chest. They were soiled and worn, but not as broken. 

 

Castiel’s eyes found his in the dark, the universe within them. “I’ll come back.” It was Dean’s turn to read the ‘to you’ within. 

  
  
  
  



	14. Chapter 14

2 Timothy 3:1-2

But realize this, that in the last days difficult times will come.

 

* * *

  
  
  


Knowing that time didn’t flow as laterally in Heaven as it did on Earth didn’t make Dean any less restless. Letting Castiel’s fingers slide through his own before he stepped up next to Hannah had been one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. It felt too much like sending Castiel to his death on just a hope...or worse, a prayer. 

 

It had been nearly twenty-four hours since he’d brushed his lips against Castiel’s cheek, conscious of all the eyes of his trusted crew heavy on them as they shared a moment of bittersweet ‘I’ll see you soon’s. Jo had only looked at him in disgust, and not for the reason Dean would have thought. Brat could get over the male part easy enough, but she still had trouble seeing Castiel as anything more than the angel that had murdered her mother.

 

Maybe if the world wasn’t such a dark place, she would have had time to come around, but either way now, they’d never have the chance. Either Castiel came back with Elysium and they restart the world or Castiel died and they would live out their lives until their fates came calling. 

 

Dean’s eyes burned, the grit of sleeplessness stinging. He made another small circle down the hall, trying in vain to pop the crick in his neck. He hadn’t slept a moment since Castiel’s departure, torn between wanting to wait outside for Castiel’s return and staying holed up next to Sammy. 

 

A harsh cough from their open bedroom halted his pacing, and Dean darted for the doorway. 

 

“Sammy?” He asked into the dim room, a single candle casting a pitiful flicker of warmth into the room that had been their home for more years than Dean wanted to keep track of. Sam still hadn’t woken from the feverish sleep going on a week strong past a few mouthfuls of food and water. 

 

The tang of encroaching death hung heavy in the gloom, sickly sweet. 

 

Sam’s chest rose in sharp hitches, thin body restless under the sheets. Dean stepped close, sitting on a crate dragged up from storage. “It’s okay Sam, I’m here,” he whispered softly, reaching out to lay a broad hand against Sam’s shaggy head. 

 

Sam turned into the touch, eyelids fluttering as if he would wake, but they never made it past the twitch. 

 

The man lying in the bed didn’t look like his brother. He was too brittle, too thin. Skin too sallow and papery. Sam looked as if he’d been hollowed out of everything that had made him  _ Sam _ . All the sunshine, all the fiery emotion, all the big sappy puppy eyes, everything that made up the youngest Winchester had drowned under the tide of Ruby’s blood. As sure as a cancer, the blood eroded all of Sam away. 

 

Dean blinked hard, sucking in a harsh breath as he stood to strip off his boots and jacket. The bed wasn’t large, more of a thin cot on a rickety frame, but Sam wouldn’t mind. Dean climbed carefully over Sam’s body, wedging himself in the space between his brother and the wall. It was uncomfortable, and a wayward spring tug in his hip, but it felt more like home. 

 

How many nights had he slept next to Sam out in the wilds? Holding the growing teen in his arms as if he could single-handedly keep him safe from all the pain in the world. He’d buried his face in the unruly mop of Sam’s hair, trying to shut out the sound of his father cleaning his guns a few feet away in their makeshift camp. Sometimes, when they were as safe as ‘safe’ could get, Dean would mumble the quiet song their mother always sang when washing dishes on a sunny afternoon. She’d always had a fondness for the Beatles. 

 

“Voice is probably shot to hell after all these years, but, uh, humor me okay?” he whispered, only receiving shallow rasps in return. 

 

‘ _ Hey Jude _ ’ wasn’t one of Dean’s personal favorites, he was more of a ‘ _ While my guitar gently weeps _ ’ kind of guy, but for some reason, Mary always liked this one best. Who knew with moms.

 

His voice was weak and worn, but the words came easily enough, even after years of letting the lyrics fade into the recesses of his memory. The door was still open, and he was a grown man shoved into a bed with an even larger grown man, but Sam always made him a little irrational. It had always been his duty to protect him, why would Dean stop now?

 

Sam’s chest rose and fell weakly under Dean’s stretched arm. Even as one song faded into another, and another, until Dean drifted off into an unsettled sleep, Sam never woke to gripe and Dean to get the hell back to his own bed. Like Dean had quietly wished for all along.

 

Dean woke with a hard blink, blearily looking around for whatever had woken him. The crick in his neck was worse, and he was sure the spring was working its way into the meat of his hip, but the abrupt clarity of where he was banished the aches in pains.

 

“Sam?” Dean sat up, staring down as Sam’s breath hitched. 

 

He scrambled to reach for the bedside table and flare the oil lamp brighter, “Sammy?” he returned to the bed, bending low to look at Sam’s face in the warm light.

 

Sam’s lips were tinged blue, and every breath more of a struggle than the last. Fever scorched his skin, heavy shivers rattling the flimsy metal frame against the floor. 

 

“No, Sammy, come on, don’t do this.” Dean pleaded, grasping Sam’s shoulders to pull him up so Dean could sit behind him, where he should have been all along. He braced Sam against him, thumping his back with a strong hand. It had worked before when Sam’s breath got too labored, but nothing was dislodging the wet wheeze within the younger’s lungs this time. 

 

“Come on Sam, come on...You can, you can do this. Just one more day. Please Sam, one more day. We’re almost there.” Sam had smirked at him a week ago when Dean resolutely insisted Sam would get into Elysium or Heaven or wherever the hell good people were supposed to go. Sam was as good as they came. Selfless, caring, and driven in ways Dean never was. It should have been Sam to restart the world with his big caring heart, not him. Sam had taken every goddamn sip of poison to make sure they’d all be safe. 

 

Sam shivered hard in Dean’s grasp, and Dean held him close enough to bruise. “G-god you hated when I did this when we were kids...Remember? But you’d crawl into my bed every damn time you had a bad dream, like a big baby.” Dean huffed a thin, watery laugh, burying his head in the messy of Sam’s damp hair. “Come on Sammy...”

 

The nights that Dean would listen to Sam breathe felt like eons ago. Before John’s death, before Castiel, before the realization that his baby brother’s days were numbered felt fully real. Because no matter what Sam had always kept breathing. 

Sam’s breath stuttered again, painfully clawing its way up and down his windpipe. 

 

“Please,” Dean begged. Even with all the bad, Castiel still clung to a shred of hope that maybe everything could be okay. That maybe God hadn’t truly forsaken them and abandoned his so-called greatest creation to ruin. “Please...if you’re really there,  _ really _ out there...Just let Sam be there.” Sam’s heart fluttered sporadically, felt against Dean’s chest through his boney back. 

 

“I can’t...I can’t be where Sam isn’t. You get that right?” Dean talked to air because, in his heart of hearts, he knew no one was listening to him. No God, no higher power that gave a damn, but if there was even the smallest chance, Dean had to take it. Castiel could believe enough for the both of them. 

 

“He’s my baby brother.” Dean’s voice cracked, and Sam shuddered in his arms, each breath more shallow than the last until they were barely there at all.  

 

“It’s okay...S-Sam I’m here. I’m always here. I know it hurts...you’ve been hurting for so long, but d-damn you did it you know? You got us here. It was all you...we have a chance now, you’ll see it. I know it...you can’t...you can’t go anywhere I can’t follow.” Sam would kill him for getting tears and snot in his hair, but Dean couldn’t stop. “Pissed me off that Dad made me babysit you so much, but...I never minded. Not really. You were...you were always the best. I never told you that, that’s why- that’s why you have to be there...what am I without you?”

 

Sam stopped breathing somewhere in his rambling, but he kept on, rocking into Sam’s still body long after his skin started to cool. And he still held him even when the sounds of others waking for the day began in the hall, and after Jo and Garth eased into the doorway with quiet words. Long after he didn’t have any more tears left to cry.

 

* * *

 

  
  


Pain wasn’t new to him. Or rather, it shouldn’t be, but pain as a mortal was so different than it was  _ before _ . 

 

They hit the ground harder than expected, tumbling to the dirt in a hapless heap. Castiel groaned, head swimming as fresh agony swept through him, stealing the breath from his lungs.

 

“U-up Castiel. There is no time.” Hannah’s reedy voice urged from a few paces away. 

 

Gritting his teeth, Castiel pushed himself up onto his knees, clutching the wrapped bundle to his chest with a sway. “On it.” That was easier said than done, getting to his feet felt like a herculean effort after what they’d just been through. 

 

He stumbled to a tree, briefly noting a mound of dirt with a marker a few trees over. Shaking his head, he hastily scrawled the pattern onto the bark of the tree with hurried passes of bloodied fingers. It wasn’t perfect, but it should be enough. 

 

He turned back to the angel crumpled on the ground, her wings streaked with crimson. “Hannah…”

 

“It’s alright. Do it Castiel, “ Her soft eyes shone bright with resolve. Being forcibly ripped from this plane to another and back again would likely kill her in this state. “Sacrifices must be made.”

 

Castiel gripped the bundle tighter with one hand, the other still poised, quivering over the sigil. “Thank you, Hannah. I wish...I wish we had served together more.”

 

A sad, fragile smile trembled on her pale lips. “As do I.”

 

His hand hit the sigil, and she burst into a blinding bath of white light, moments later, she was gone. 

 

A few steps and he wavered, barely catching himself before he tumbled back to the ground. It was just a few more yards to the Plant, then to Dean. He could do it, he’d already come this far. 

 

Every step jarred his side, but he continued on until he could slap his hand against the warding. A small pulse of magic answered his hand, and the door swung open. He fell inside, clawing a few more feet in to let the door swing back closed behind him. 

 

Footsteps approached, barely there. “Castiel?” Garth’s mousy voice felt like a balm, and Castiel looked up to see his thin face pinched with worry. 

 

“D...dean, I need Dean, Help me, Garth.” Castiel struggled back to his knees, and with Garth’s help, he got back to his feet. He was surprised that Garth’s small frame could even support him, but the young man held strong as they made their way to the second level. 

 

They drew closer to the Mess, “I’ll, wait here. Bring him to me, I don’t want to alarm the others.”

 

“Are you sure about that? I think you’d better get that looked at fir--”

 

“ _ Garth please _ ,” Castiel pressed, sucking in a wavering breath. He pressed out with a bloodied hand, urging Garth towards the mess hall. 

 

Garth hesitated a few more steps before disappearing through the door.

 

Castiel heaved a relieved sigh, slouching against the cold wall to still the dizziness that was slowly encroaching. It felt almost comforting to be back here after returning to Heaven, a place that had been  _ home _ for his unfathomably long life. 

 

How fitting it was that the place his wings had been taken from him, where he’d nearly been broken all over again, would turn into a sanctuary. He would do this over and over again if just to avoid Naomi’s hand.

 

And Dean...that was a gift he’d never expected.

 

“Cas?” Dean’s voice filled his veins with warmth, and he straightened in time for the man to pull him into an unabashed kiss.

 

As soon as Dean felt him tense and hiss he backed off. “Dean, there’s no time.” But it was futile.

 

“Jesus Cas!” Dean tugged aside Castiel’s jacket, bearing the side that was soaked a dark currant. An angel’s blade didn’t work on humans quite the same way it did other creatures, but it would eventually. Even with Castiel’s paltry experience of the human body, he could feel every minute he stood his body growing weaker and weaker. 

 

Time wouldn’t wait for him.

 

He thrust the bundle into Dean’s arms, a thin smile hovering on pale lips. “Take it, Dean, please. I don’t know how long the sigil will keep them at bay, we don’t have long.”

 

Dean stared at the wrapped object placed in his hands, dark circles heavy under his blood-shot eyes. He looked as if he’d aged ten years in the time Castiel had been away. He was so beautiful, so worn. 

 

If only they’d had more time…

 

The ticking of the clock grew louder, and Castiel reached an unsteady hand to gently cup Dean’s cheek as he grasped the glittering, pale ivory hilt of the weapon underneath the cloth. The blade was breathtaking, an impossible shining surface of opalescent and gold honed down to a hornet’s sting. 

 

“A dagger?” Dean breathed, brows bunched as he drew a finger against the flat of the blade. “I don’t get it Cas, why is Elysium a dagger?”

 

Tears stung Castiel’s eyes, a lone droplet tracking down his blood-smeared cheek. “It always had to be this way I think...sacrifice. It is always sacrifice He wants.” As if they haven’t given enough. As if all of humanity and more hadn’t bled for their right to live. To thrive. 

 

What sort of God would create a world like this? Where they had to keep giving and giving until they had nothing left? Even those that took bled out faster than they could hoard. Had God ever sacrificed something so great? Had God punished them for a sin they had no way to repent for? Castiel had once thought his Father a merciful being who’s divine plan would unfold in the end. Who would cradle them All in his hand, and tell them they’d passed some divine test. But instead, they’d been abandoned as sure as any pitiful beast dumped in the wilds, left to die. 

 

“I’m so sorry, Dean.” Castiel choked back a sob, bending to gently place his forehead to Dean’s shoulder.

 

Behind them, Garth’s footsteps hesitantly approached. “So...What...What should I tell them, boss?” His eyes flicked to Dean’s hands, catching a glimpse of the sparkling hilt before Dean covered it back up.

 

Dean carded his free hand through Castiel’s short hair, “Tell them it was successful. That I’m going to use Elysium, that the war will be over.” His voice had a thread of pain in it, one that Garth thankfully ignored.

 

“Got it.” Garth took a step back, wavering, “For what it’s worth, I think we had a damn good run thanks to you and your brother.” Garth had always been more quick-witted than anyone gave him credit for. 

 

Castiel felt Dean sigh against the side of his head as Garth retreated back to the mess. “Let’s go outside. I want to be near Sammy.” Castiel’s heart clenched. It was no wonder Dean looked so worn.

 

“You’ll see him again.” He shouldn’t, by rights, feel so confident, but Castiel refused to believe someone like Sam Winchester would be left out of paradise. His soul had been blackened and despoiled, but he had still been  _ good _ . If it wasn’t for Sam, Castiel doubted he would have ever made it this far. 

 

Dean’s breath trembled against him, and Castiel leaned up long enough to steal another kiss. Time could wait a few seconds more. 

 

“I’ll be with you.” 

 

They left the sound of joyous shouts and cries behind them, leaving the people to their deceptive reverie. 

 

It was deceivingly bright outside, the harsh sun made bearable by the canopy of the trees. Castiel picked careful steps over the ground already streaked with his and Hannah’s blood as Dean helped them out to the tree. The mound of fresh dirt and the solitary thick branch hammered into the top made up the last member of their vigil. 

 

Castiel sat heavily under the tree, eyes lingering on the grave. “I’m...sorry I wasn’t here when he passed, Dean, I’m — ”

 

“Cas, “ His name on Dean’s lips was an apology and a plea for him to stop wrapped up in three letters. 

 

Dean settled next to him, pulling him close with a strong arm. The world was starting to fade at the edges, blurry, like looking frosted glass. The heat of the day less prominent against his skin. 

 

Dean unwrapped the knife on his stretched legs, looking down at the blade that spelled the beginning and the end. 

 

“Cas, I’m,” Dean swallowed the ‘scared’ that threatened on his lips, and as tired as he was, Castiel could still feel him tremble.

 

“I know,” Castiel whispered, turning his face into Dean’s neck. “I’m here.”

 

Dean gripped the handle with his right hand, left arm clutching around Castiel’s shoulders. “If there had to be anyone, I’m glad it was you.” It wasn’t obvious, but Castiel knew what Dean meant. 

 

“I’m glad to meet this end, Dean. Mortal. With you.” He whispered, lips trembling against Dean’s neck “”One more time.” He pleaded, the chill of time’s grasp climbing steadily through his veins.

 

Dean captured his lips in another desperate press, urging all the words, moments, and years denied to them into that single kiss. 

 

Castiel didn’t get to see Dean position Elysium over his heart, glistening verdant eyes not on the shard of possibility poised over his very soul, but on Castiel’s still form instead. 

 

Dean Winchester had seen everyone dear to him slowly succumb to God’s  _ will _ , and yet, he didn’t feel bitter anger churning within him like a raging storm. Peace settled within him as he traced the lines of Castiel’s face, the scars on his forehead, and the life denied to him. 

 

The knife slid in effortlessly, slicing through muscle and sinew to something beyond. There was only a brief moment of pain, negligible compared to the life he’d lead. 

 

Hopefully, this go around, time could be a little kinder. 


	15. Epilogue

  
  


Matthew 28:20

Teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The grass was lush beneath his feet, perfumed air filled with a symphony of fresh, fat blossoms. He bent to pluck a daffodil, cradling its sunshine petals as if it was made of glass. He breathed the sweet scent, savoring the simple bouquet of unpolluted beauty. 

 

For it was truly resplendent. A rich field that stretched for miles, budding with possibility. It was what he’d wanted all along. So naive, so unprepared to face the fallacy of his own hubris. He’d mistaken divinity for infallible. 

 

And to think, all it took were the souls that Michael and Lucifer couldn’t snuff out, no matter how hard they tried. Well, that and a solitary angel. 

 

He’d always favored Castiel. It was unbecoming of him to spare extra thought to his children, especially after his first born had broken his heart, but yet, he would never claim to be without error again. 

 

Castiel was the angel he’d always meant for humanity. An angel of might and mercy, of compassion. One that could look upon a shining soul beaten to the brink and held it close in forgiveness and love. 

 

The world had never been unworthy. Perhaps he should have made that clearer. It was he who had been unworthy of it. A selfish desire he’d flung away once it stopped bending to his will. He’d poured too much of himself into it to contain, and like a child, he’d retreated with the hope of making something better. But they’d made something that even he couldn’t have dreamed up. This world was born of love and hope, not a being’s narcissism, however well intended. 

 

This world would fair better now. Without his first children that he’d cruelly relegated to the back burner or the fallen’s spawn. 

 

A ball of brilliant light floated past, and he smiled. His head tilted back, taking in the orbs that bounced lazily in the stream of time. The cosmos shone above, paint strokes of the universe that reached into infinity. Bright splashes of coalescing dawns and dusks, spattered with the touch of stars. 

 

Each orb whispered its name and hopes, filled with the culmination of what it had been Before. 

 

He sighed, extending his will to call two wayward motes to him. The two bled from the serenity of the fields, hovering close together until their light melded seamlessly between them. 

 

Smiling, he held his hands to his lips, whispering quietly until a sickly, grey light seeped from his palms, bobbing sluggishly under the weight of its own regrets and guilt. His finger touched on the pitiful thing, a burst of sorrow bleeding into him from the orb’s anguish. 

 

“You were never evil. None of you were.” 

 

More grey motes shudder into existence, surrounding him and the entwined two. They wailed pitifully into the tranquility, weighted by a life either wasted or merely tainted by decisions a bitter world had lead them to. 

 

He Spoke to them, one by one. Grey flecks shuddered from each form, scattering into the balmy breeze of Elysium. It took no time at all because Time wasn’t yet here. Not yet. 

 

Grey bloomed a prism of splendor until all that was left was the solitary mote bobbing morosely against his palm. 

 

“You gave them hope.” It too quivered as the ash of life fell away, until all that was left was a radiant hazel that pulsed and called to the two hovering motes nearby. 

 

Chuckling quietly, He released the mote to the other two, watching as hazel met peridot and cerulean. They circled and danced, darting off into the fields after one another like bees skittering through flowers and the tall, lush grass. 

 

His smile waned, shoulders sagging as he turned to survey the open field now alight with bright, unblemished souls. 

 

“This will be all that you deserved,”  He promised, knowing that without him, this world will thrive. 

 

The last light to fill the earth is his own, his construct-of-self breaking apart in a burst of dazzling light that bled down into the fields. 

 

The world seemed to sigh, filling within as time began, and the sleepy dawn began to creep forward. Elysium was born. 

**Author's Note:**

> For more updates and excerpts head to my tumblr at : http://neonbat666.tumblr.com/ and search #Neon-writes or #Neon Writes


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